







# UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, f 



















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Legends 





OF 


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ARS 


IN 


Jrelan D. 



'V' 

ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D. 







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'ty • v0 ^‘ 

y °' Washing 0 


^ BOSTON: 

JAMES CAMPBELL, 18 TREMONT STREET. 


1868. 

V 


No, l> 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 
JAMES CAMPBELL, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 


Stereotyped and Printed by 
Geo. C. Rand & Avery, 3 Cornhill, Boston. 


To 


John Savage, Esq. 


IN ADMIRATION OF HIS GENIUS AS A POET, AND IN TESTIMONY 
OF HIS STERLING WORTH AS AN IRISHMAN 
AND A PATRIOT, 


q:sis goox 

IS DEDICATED BT HIS COUNTRYMAN AND FRIEND, 


Boston, November, 1867. 


THE AUTHOR. 









































































- 

























1 


















< 




* 







































































































CONTENTS. 


stft'.c 


( A Batch of Legends 

/ The Master of Lisfinry .... 
^ The Fair Maid of Killarney 

v/ An Eye for an Eye 

^ The Rose of Drimnagh . 

^AThe House of Lisbloom .... 
'S The White Knight’s Present 
( The First and Last Lords of Fermoy 
/ The Chase from the Hostel 
V, The Whitethorn Tree . . .' . 

* * Rosaleen, or The White Lady of Barna 

y The Bridal Ring 

y The Little Battle of Bottle Hill . 


PAGE 

7 

41 

79 

103 

112 

127 

196 

204 

224 

243 

306 

325 


340 




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A Batch of Legends. 


INTRODUCTORY. 

T O tHe majority of people, a quiet seat by the fire- 
side, or an easy walk along the streets of one’s 
native town or village, is often more agreeable than 
the toilsome rambles of the tourist. And yet in 
every district of our islands, amid the summits of 
their wild mountain ranges, and in the green glens 
and pastoral valleys of their lowlands, lie scenes 
which would amply repay the toil and trouble of 
the wanderer. The battered and gloomy castle, 
built with exact military judgment on its command- 
ing position above the narrow pass, suggesting the 
bloody contentions that often raged beneath its 
walls; the ivied and time-worn ecclesiastical ruin 
amid the green pastures by the peaceful river, with 
its gray tombstones, drooping yew-trees, and sacred 
hawthorns; the ancient Danish encampment; the 
fairy-haunted rath; the small cyclopean oratories* 

* Diminutive chapels, built of enormous blocks of stone, the ruins 
ef which exist yet in many places in Ireland. 


7 


8 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


of the ancient missionaries who first brought the 
light of Christianity to our shores ; the lonely Druidic 
cairns and sacrificial altars, — all these, with their 
wild and romantic legends, and the varied and beau- 
tiful scenery that surrounds them, would, in my 
opinion, afford as much pleasure to the traveller as 
the quaint towns and sluggish canals of Germany, 
the hackneyed precipices and waterfalls of Switzer- 
land, or the brigand-peopled passes of Italy ; for all 
which our modern excursionists have such a strange 
and unpatriotic predilection. 

To those whose easy inclinations preclude their 
taking on themselves the troubles ' of the tourist, 
who have no leisure for holiday excursions, or who 
prefer migrating with the yearly tide of fashion to 
Continental lands for enjoyment of scenery and char- 
acter, I offer these volumes of tales, with the hum- 
ble hope that they may be the means of pleasantly 
passing away some of their dull hours. The legends 
and wild lore contained in them are the gleanings of 
the author, since his boyhood, in one of the most 
picturesque and beautiful portions of our island, — 
the result of his sojourn for many a summer month 
under canvas amid the high mountain ranges, and 
of his due attendance at wake and wedding, dance, 
Patron,* and fair, and merry-makings of every de- 
scription, amongst the peasantry. Before concluding, 
however, it will not, I hope, be out of place to offer 

* A meeting of the peasantry for prayer and merry-making around 
the ancient well or chapel dedicated to the patron saint of the locality. 


INTRODUCTORY. 


9 


a few remarks upon the peculiar kinds of traditions 
to be met with in these volumes, — traditions, many 
of which the author has found common to all the 
nations of middle and northern Europe, and which, 
therefore, cannot but prove interesting to the eth- 
nologist and historian, no matter to what country 
he may belong. 

The narratives handed down to us through the 
medium of oral traditions are of three kinds. The 
first includes all those wild, romantic, and strange 
legends, which, however they may be twisted, turned, 
or embellished, always carry with them a certain air 
of improbability and untruth. To this class belong 
the many stories relating to Theseus, Hercules, and 
the other Greek demi-gods ; the romantic history of 
Romulus and Remus, and of many another Roman 
hero; numerous incidents in the wild legends of 
the Fenian warriors, and in the romances of King 
Arthur and his compeers ; many of the Sagas of the 
North : in other words, most part of the early his- 
tory of the several countries to which these person- 
ages belonged, and of every other land whose origin 
looms out indistinctly beneath the dusky shadows 
of antiquity. 

To the second class belong those circumstantial 
narratives which bear the impress of having been 
founded more intimately on certain facts, but which 
are yet unsupported by historical testimony. Of 
this class may be cited, as examples, the tales of bat- 
tles, sieges, single combats, acts of piety, or deeds 


10 


A_ BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


of wickedness, told by the peasantry of our own 
islands, in connection with many a pass, castle, gray 
abbey, and hoary town, but for any corroboration 
of which we will look in vain to the meagre and 
scanty pages of our national histories. And yet if 
the latter were once properly written, and our old 
documents carefully examined, many of these tales 
would become proven history; for it is from such 
that a considerable part of even the authentic nar- 
rative of every country is made up. There are 
hundreds of incidents related in the pages of Thierry 
and Macaulay, which, before the days of these histo- 
rians, were accepted on traditional authority only, 
but which now, after the careYul investigations of 
these acute minds, have become matters of purely 
authentic history. 

In the third class are included all those tales and 
legends, which, however wild and romantic, yet find, 
in some of their incidents at least, corroborating 
testimony in written history. Of these the historian 
will find many yet lingering among the peasantry ; 
and, if he investigate them with the proper amount 
of acuteness, diligence, and erudition, they will add 
in no small degree to the liveliness and truthfulness 
of his pages. It is from such materials that Scott 
formed the subject-matter of his long series of 
novels, constructing, as he did, one bright and 
attractive panorama of the history of his native 
land. 

Of each of the above classes I shall now proceed 


THE LEGEND OF THE SLEEPING MONKS. 11 


to give an example, commencing with the first. In 
what follows, the reader, if he be versed in legend- 
ary lore, will recognize an Irish version of a legend 
known in parts of Germany, in Norway, in England, 
and in other European nations, in each of which 
countries, however, it seems to belong to no particu- 
lar locality. In Ireland, nevertheless, the legend is 
fixed to a certain place, and always told without 
either variation of incident, or change of the charac- 
ters involved in it. The reader, if he has ever 
heard it, can, however, judge for himself with regard 
to these points in 


THE LEGEND OF THE SLEEPING MONKS. 

About a mile ,to the south of Fethard, in the 
county of Tipperary, stand the ruins of the ancient 
Abbey of Kilmacluch, near the banks of the Glas- 
hawling, one of the two streams that, after their 
junction, form the beautiful river Anner. In the 
early ages of Christianity, there presided over this 
holy establishment an abbot called Barran Kief, 
renowned both for the extent of his learning and 
for the sanctity of his life. One bright summer 
day, Barran Kief, with two of his monks, went out to 
walk in a green, forest-clad valley that lay beside 
the abbey wall, and, on reaching a certain lonely 
glade, sat down to rest. Around them, on every 
side, stretched the green, dreamy forest, covering 
height, hollow, and shore, and drawing its many- 


12 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


tinted cincture of bright leaves around the sloping 
sides of Sliav-na-mon. After resting for some time, 
they were just thinking of rising, and proceeding on 
their way, when they heard a loud rustling of wings 
above them in the air; and, on looking upward, 
beheld a bird of beautiful form and resplendent 
plumage, hovering over the tops of the green trees, 
and looking down upon them at the same time with 
eyes whose intense rays seemed to pierce into their 
very souls. Hovering thus for a few moments, the 
bird at length commenced singing a long and varied 
strain of melody, which fell upon the ears of the 
wondering abbot and his monks beneath with a 
sweetness far surpassing any thing they had ever 
heard, and scarcely equalled by that glorious strain, 
which, in their dreams of heaven, always saluted 
them through its golden portals. Still the bird 
hovered above them, with its glittering wings out- 
spread, singing its enchanting song, which at 
length seemed to fill valley and glade, and the 
deep, dreamy recesses of the forest', with a flood of 
ravishing and delightful melody. As the monks 
listened, they felt a rapturous and delicious drowsi- 
ness stealing over them, and at length fell into a 
sound and dreamless sleep. 

The winds of a hundred summers had borne 
the odors of the flowers on their rejoicing wings 
through the dells of the merry forest, when, on the 
noontide of a sunny day, one of the monks awoke, 
and called out in a loud voice, “ Clushm ghlay / ” 


THE LEGEND OF THE SLEEPING MONKS. IB 


i.e., “ I hear a call ! ” But the bird was still float- 
ing above them on its glorious wings, and still sing- 
ing its enrapturing song; and the monk, overpow- 
ered by the sweetness of the melody, lay back on 
the green forest grass, and fell asleep once more. 

When the flowers of another hundred summers 
had bloomed and died along the lonely forest, the 
second monk awoke in the breezy noontide, and 
called out, “ Cadh ha urth f ” i.e., “ What troubleth 
thee ? ” But the bird was still singing over him and 
his companions; and he had scarcely gotten one 
glimpse of the fresh blue sky, when he was lying 
upon his couch of green shamrocks, and asleep again. 

The gray crags on the mountain-tops had been 
beaten by the winds and channelled by the succes- 
sive rains of another hundred years, when Barran 
Kief, the abbot himself, awoke, and called out in a 
loud voice, “ Shievun bouragh ! ” i.e., “ Thou trou- 
blest me ! ” And immediately his monks opened their 
eyes ; and all three arose slowly to their feet, freed 
from their enchantment ; for the bright-winged bird 
was gone, and the sweet melody was heard no more. 

The blue summer sky was still the same above 
them : but, as Barran Kief and his two monks looted 
around, they were stricken with a strange surprise ; 
for, in the low-lying valley where once the marsh- 
flower bloomed, fields of yellowing corn now waved 
in the mild winds ; and along the sides of the hills, 
and down in many a lonely dale, where once the 
great trees of the forest spread their giant arms, cot 


14 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


and castle now gleamed in the sunshine, with herds 
of quiet cattle and many a flock of snowy sheep 
browsing contentedly around them. After standing 
for a time in mute wonderment, they proceeded to- 
wards the abbey, thinking still, in spite of them- 
selves, that they had slept only during a few hours. 
On reaching the abbey, their astonishment was 
increased on finding it occupied by a strange abbot 
and strange monks, who all crossed themselves in 
wonder and awe at beholding the three strange 
visitants. 

Barra n Kief went to the abbot, and asked him 
the reason of the change in such a short time. The 
abbot answered by inquiring who they were. Bar- 
ren Kief told him ; on which he immediately pro- 
ceeded to the books of the abbey, and found their 
names entered on them three hundred years before. 
On informing them of this, and that their brethren 
were, of course, all dead and gone for nearly the same 
period, they appeared suddenly to be aware of what 
had happened, and told the abbot the cause of their 
staying away. 

“And now, O priest!” said Barran Kief to the 
abbot, “we will celebrate one mass more for the 
glory of God before we depart.” 

The chapel was full of people ; for it was Sunday. 
Barran Kief arrayed himself in a vestment, and, 
assisted by his two monks, chanted the mass with a 
melodious sweetness that reminded the congregation 
of the delightful strains of Paradise. After return- 


THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSED SWORDS. 15 


ing thanks to God, and blessing the people, Barren 
Kief and his monks then fell down upon the altar, 
and were instantly reduced to three heaps of dust. 

The reader will recognize the impossible in almost 
every portion of the above story ; but, when we 
come to narrations of the second class, he will find 
them of a different character. In these, every cir- 
cumstance falls in naturally : there is nothing impos- 
sible, nothing with even much of an air of improba- 
bility about it ; and all are related with a minute- 
ness regarding time, action, and locality, that can 
leave on the reader’s mind very little doubt of their 
truth. I shall proceed at once to illustrate the 
stories of this class by 

THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSED SWORDS. 

In a certain mountainous district of Munster, 
there dwelt in the year 1745 a young gentleman by 
the name of Barry. The small property in his pos- 
session at that time was the remnant of a very con- 
siderable one which his grandfather had lost by his 
adherence to the cause of King James in the disas- 
trous war of 1691. This young man’s father and 
mother both died in the same year, — namely, 1728, 
— leaving him an orphan at the early age of five 
years. Under the care of his friends, and without 
the watchful eye of a mother to look after his early 
training, Bryan Barry grew up a wild and reckless 
boy, with strong passions and a hasty temper, yet 


16 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


with a peculiarly warm heart, and a wonderful kind- 
liness of disposition towards any one whom he might 
consider for the moment as his friend. At the pe- 
riod in which this short tale opens, he had become a 
young man of fine proportions and very handsome 
features, but of reckless and irregular habits, and 
with a mind which had taken its tone from the 
stories he had heard of the acts and sentiments of 
his forefathers ; becoming therefore imbued with the 
deepest feelings regarding the unfortunate race of 
the Stuarts, and filled with the wildest notions rela- 
tive to their restoration to the British throne. He 
had, about a year previous to the above date, fallen 
in love with an extremely beautiful girl named Mary 
Fitzgerald, a few years younger than himself, and the 
daughter of an old gentleman who lived in his vi- 
cinity, who was very poor, having, like Bryan’s grand- 
father, lost his property on account of his religion 
and political opinions. Bryan’s love was favored 
by the young girl’s father, and returned by Mary 
herself with the fondest affection and devotedness. 

There was in the same neighborhood, and possess- 
ing the confiscated estates both of Bryan’s grand- 
father and old Fitzgerald, a man named Ebenezer 
Stubbs, whose father had been a drummer in the 
army of King William. This man, who was at the 
time about thirty years of age, condescended to look 
with a favorable eye upon the handsome Mary Fitz- 
gerald, and consequently hated, and was cordially 
hated in return by, his successful rival, Bryan Barry. 


THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSED SWORDS. 17 


These two young men seldom met ; but, whenever 
they did, it was with looks that boded no peaceful 
termination to their many causes of dispute : for 
Bryan, besides hating Ebenezer Stubbs on Mary 
Fitzgerald’s account, considered him also as the 
usurper of his rightful patrimony, to which was 
added a hearty detestation on political grounds ; 
and Ebenezer, for many similar reasons, lost no 
opportunity of showing his ill-will on every possible 
occasion. 

Things went on thus for some time, when one day 
Mary Fitzgerald and Ebenezer Stubbs both disap- 
peared from the neighborhood, no one knew whither. 
The grief and rage of old Fitzgerald and Bryan 
knew no bounds ; and the sorrow of the majority of 
their neighbors was little less, for Mary was a uni- 
versal favorite with every one who knew her. 
Search was made throughout every part of the sur- 
rounding country, but without avail. Day after 
day, Bryan, with the few young men that resided on 
his diminished property, and witli many of the sons 
of those who once acknowledged the jurisdiction of 
his forefathers, was out amid the mountains, and 
far and near through the adjacent plains, in search 
of the lost Mary Fitzgerald ; but every succeeding 
day saw them returning sad, weary, and unsuccessful. 
When somewhat more than a month had passed 
away, and still no tidings of the lost one came to 
comfort the bereaved father and anxious lover, a re- 
port began to circulate amongst the people around, 


18 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


that Ebenezer Stubbs and Mary Fitzgerald were 
both living happily as man and wife in the north of 
England. This rumor at length reached the ears 
of old Fitzgerald and of Bryan ; and the latter, hav- 
ing lost all hope, and mad with disappointment and 
despair, turned his thoughts to a project on which 
he had been meditating occasionally for some time 
previously. His was not the temperament to brook 
delay after once resolving to act ; and he soon car- 
ried out his project. 

Our readers will recollect, that, in the above year, 
“ bonnie Prince Charlie ” made his final attempt to 
regain the throne of his fathers by raising his stand- 
ard in the Highlands of Scotland. In Ireland, and 
particularly in its southern and western counties, 
this attempt was looked upon by the inhabitants 
with eager eyes. The advent of the prince was 
hoped for anxiously by the peasantry, and sung by 
their wandering poets; and when he did at last 
raise his banner in the Highlands, many young men 
from Ireland crossed the water, and joined his ranks. 
Bryan was among the latter. With about a dozen 
young men, — his own tenantry, — he made his way 
to the Shannon shore ; and, seizing a small schooner 
near Ballybunnion, he sailed down the river, turned 
northward, and rounded the coast of Ireland, till he 
reached a secluded bay on the western shore of 
Scotland, whence, after abandoning the boat, he and 
his companions crossed the country, and at length 
succeeded in joining the army of the Pretender. 


THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSED SWORDS. 19 

After escaping many dangers, and losing most of 
his companions, he stood at length by the side of the 
young prince, and fought bravely for his cause in 
the disastrous battle of Culloden ; and when the 
day was lost, and the hopes of the Pretender were 
shattered forever, he again escaped, and contrived, 
through innumerable perils and hardships, to reach 
his native land once more. 

It was a dark December night when Bryan sat, 
sad and weary, by the fireside of an old farmer who 
dwelt upon the skirts of the property that a few 
months before he could call his own, but which now, 
during his absence, had fallen into the possession of 
his mortal enemy, Ebenezer Stubbs. From this old 
farmer, Bryan learned the secret of Mary Fitzgerald’s 
disappearance, and other facts that made him burn 
for vengeance upon his enemy. Mary had been car- 
ried off by Ebenezer Stubbs, and confined in Limer- 
ick, in the house of one of his accomplices ; while 
Ebenezer himself, after taking up his residence in 
London, had caused some of his worthy associates 
to circulate the report of his marriage at home, thus 
getting rid of Bryan in the manner related. Eben- 
ezer, after receiving the news of Bryan’s reckless 
proceedings, caused Mary Fitzgerald to be sent 
back to her father, and soon returned to the neigh- 
borhood himself, where as a magistrate, and having 
the terrible penal laws of those times to back him, 
he soon made himself the terror of the poor peas- 
antry, and even of the higher classes of the Roman 


20 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


Catholics around. Amongst the rest, he had com- 
pelled old Fitzgerald to consent to his marriage 
with Mary ; and Bryan learned, in despair and grief, 
that the ceremony was to take place in a few 
days. 

On the morning of the day before that fixed for 
the marriage, Ebenezer received a message to this 
effect, — that, should he go on the same evening to 
the old churchyard outside the wall of his demesne, 
he would meet a, person who would give him some 
information of vital importance to himself and Mary 
Fitzgerald. This message Ebenezer cautiously pon- 
dered over for some time ; but at length he resolved 
to go. Late in the evening, having armed himself 
with the long, iron-hilted sword his father had worn 
in the wars, Ebenezer proceeded to the lonely 
churchyard, and there, on turning round a corner 
of the dilapidated wall, he beheld confronting him 
the man whom he most feared and hated, Bryan 
Barry. 

“ Draw ! ” exclaimed Bryan ; “ you false hound, 
draw, and defend your vile carcass ; for I swear that 
only one of us shall leave this spot a living man ! ” 

“ I am glad,” replied Ebenezer, who was not at 
all deficient in courage, “that it has come to 
this. You beggarly outlaw ! ” added he with a sneer, 
at the same time drawing his weapon, “ I will 
show you the power of the law, as well as the power 
of my own hatred and this good sword. Take 
that 1 ” and he made a furious lounge at Bryan, who, 


THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSED SWORDS. 21 


after a dexterous parry, slightly grazed Ebenezer’s 
shoulder in return. 

It is unnecessary to describe the particulars of 
that vengeful and long-protracted struggle ; but, 
when the cold light of sunset fell upon the mould- 
ering wall of the solitary ruin, Bryan Bai^ and 
Ebenezer Stubbs were found lying side by side, 
pierced by many deep wounds, and stone dead, be- 
neath the branches of the ancient ash-tree under 
which they fought. On hearing the news, Mary 
Fitzgerald received a shock from which her broken 
constitution never rallied. She pined slowly away, 
and died ere the commencement of the ensuing sum- 
mer ; and her father soon followed her to the grave. 
The bodies of the two mortal foes were buried 
where they fell, outside the wall of the ruin, and a 
stone, which an itinerant mason marked with the 
semblances of the tw r o swords crossed, in token of 
their last struggle, placed over their blood-stained 
resting-place. 

Now, for authenticating this narrative. Beside 
the same churchyard, and beneath a very ancient 
ash-tree, was to be seen some few years ago — per- 
haps it may be seen there still — a tall, green flag- 
stone standing on end, on removing the moss from 
the eastern face of which, the rude figures of two 
swords, placed crosswise, might be easily discerned ; 
and, if the curious traveller inquired concerning the 
history of that strange symbol, he would hear from 
any of the surrounding peasantry a narrative the 


22 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


same in substance as the foregoing. But what 
makes the story still more authentic is this. On the 
side of the little hill that rises over the ancient 
churchyard, lives a farmer, — now about ninety 
years of age, — who states that he often heard his 
grandfather relating the story, and every particular 
of the combat ; he (that is the grandfather), then 
a boy, having witnessed the whole scene through a 
narrow window of the old ruin, to which he had 
climbed in search of a jackdaw’s nest, and behind 
which he had lain all the time, concealed in the 
clustering ivy. 

We now come to narratives of the third class; 
namely, those in which one or more, or even all 
the circumstances related in them, can be con- 
firmed by written history : and I shall illustrate 
them briefly for the present by 


THE LEGEND OF THE SAXON’S HOLLOW. 

About a dozen years before Cromwell came into 
Ireland, there dwelt an old chief, named De Prender- 
gast, far up amid the eastern summits of the Cnoc- 
mel-down Mountains, in a castle called Crogh-Cluny, 
the ruins of which may still be seen by the traveller, 
should he pass through that wild region. This 
castle stood upon a projecting limestone rock, over 
a deep hollow, through which wound the only road 
then available for the passage of troops from the 


THE LEGEND OF THE SAXON’S HOLLOW. 23 


county of Tipperary into those of Waterford and 
Cork. Besides this castle, the chief possessed others 
down in the lowlands, the strongest of which was 
that of Newcastle, upon the banks of the Suir. 
The old chief was blind with age, but still of an 
• energetic character, and had living with him at that 
time, in Crogh-Cluny, an orphan niece and his two 
sons. One wild winter’s day, a mounted messenger, 
or easlach , rode into Crogh-Cluny, from James Fitz- 
gerald, Lord of Modeligo, near the Blackwater, with 
the intelligence that Murrogh O’Brien, Earl of 
Inchiguin, after despoiling all the eastern baronies 
of the county of Cork, and the adjoining districts of 
Waterford, was to march with his plunder by Crogh- 
Cluny into Tipperary. The easlach also stated, 
that, in case De Prendergast would aid the Lord of 
Modeligo, the latter, with all his clan, would attack 
Murrogh O’Brien in his passage through the hollow 
near the castle, and endeavor to obtain possession 
of the spoil. De Prendergast agreed to the propo- 
sition, and the courier departed. 

On the day that the Earl of Inchiguin marched 
across the mountains, the confederated clans of the 
two chiefs hovered on his track, and, as he wound 
through the hollow beside Crogh-Cluny, attacked 
him, according to their agreement, gained possession 
of the spoil, and cut his army to pieces; the earl 
himself only escaping by the fleetness of his horse, 
which bore him, with one astonishing bound, across 
a deep and narrow glen, running along the northern 


24 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


side of the hollow, and called to this day, by the 
peasantry of that highland region, Leam-an-Earla , 
or the Earl’s Leaj) ; the steep valley itself being des- 
ignated Lag-na-Sassenagh , or the Saxon’s Hollow, 
in commemoration of the battle,, and of the number 
of Murrogh O’Brien’s soldiers slain within it. 

In the division of the spoil, the two clans quar- 
relled ; and another and equally bloody battle would 
have been fought in the hollow, had not the mat- 
ter been left to the arbitration of single combat 
between the eldest son of He Prendergast and the 
Lord of Modeligo. The duel was to be fought in 
full armor, and with sword and dagger, by the two 
young chiefs. On the day appointed, they met, in 
the presence of a stipulated number of each clan, 
within the lists on the bank of the Suir, near New- 
castle, the spot agreed upon for the combat. It 
was a tough and bloody duel ; but at length young 
De Prendergast fell, mortally wounded, beneath the 
more fortunate sword of the young Lord of Mo- 
deligo. 

The old chief, in the mean time, was sitting in his 
castle of Crogh-Cluny, anxiously awaiting news of 
the combat and of the fate of his son. At length 
his niece, who was stationed beside a window of the 
apartment, heard the clatter of hoofs coming up the 
rocky ballagh , or road, that led beside the castle, 
and, on looking out, found that it was the young 
Lord of Modeligo returning from the fight. The 
moment the latter beheld the young lady, he reined 
in his horse opposite the window, — 


THE LEGEND OF THE SAXON’S HOLLOW. 25 


“Go!” exclaimed he in a vaunting tone, “ and 
tell the old wolf inside that I have killed his best 
cub in to-day’s combat.” 

The young girl repeated the words to the blind 
old chief inside. 

“ Stay ! ” said the latter, rising from his chair, 
taking down a loaded musketoon from the mantel- 
piece, and resting it on the sill of a loophole that 
commanded the spot where the Lord of Modeligo 
still sat motionless upon his horse, — “ Stay, girl ! 
Now ask him to say over the same words again !” 

The young girl did as she was commanded ; but, 
ere the words were half repeated, a bullet from the 
musketoon of the blind chief, who regulated his 
aim by the direction of the voice, passed through 
the brain of the young Lord of Modeligo, and 
stretched him a corpse in the midst of his terrified 
followers, on that steep road beneath the strong 
walls of Crogh-Cluny. 

The above is the substance, neither more nor less, 
of what I heard a few years ago from a venerable 
old farmer who resides near the ruins of Clogh- 
Cluny Castle. On referring to Carte’s Life of Or- 
mond, and other histories, the reader will find that 
Murrogh O’Brien, Earl of Inchiguin, did actually 
pass down those mountains, with spoil from parts 
of Cork and Waterford, in the year indicated by the 
legend; namely, 1641. The histories also state that 
Murrogh sent word to Captains Peasly and Browne, 
who commanded at that time in Tipperary, to have 


26 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


his passage cleared for the transportation of the 
spoil, and that, on these officers neglecting to do so, 
“ he was sorely troubled by the mountaineers.” 
No doubt but he was. For when Carte and 
other partisan writers admit so much, and with 
the evidence of the names of the localities before 
us, we may conclude that Murrogh the Burner — 
as he was called from his savage cruelties, and his 
equally savage marauders — got a bloody and sig- 
nal overthrow from the two brave clans; and we 
may also very legitimately infer that most, if not 
all, of the other incidents of the legend are true. 

I shall now introduce my readers to a country 
acquaintance of mine, whose accurate knowledge I 
have often put to the test in tracing legends to 
their source, as well as in divesting them of the 
extraneous incidents often tacked to them by the 
peasantry during the lapse of time. 

Bob Barry is a doctor of the old school, and looks 
down with sovereign contempt on many modern 
surgical and medical theories. According to his 
own words, he believes what he likes, and nothing 
more. And yet Dr. Bob is a successful practi- 
tioner. Witness his beautiful house and grounds, 
and the amount of money he is said to have in the 
funds. He imagines himself that a deep knowledge 
of the ancient classics is more his forte than a 
knowledge of the healing art; and certainly he 
loses no opportunity of demonstrating his con vie- 


THE LEGEND OF THE SAXON’S HOLLOW. 27 


tion by interlarding his conversations with the most 
astonishingly unique and erudite phrases and apho- 
risms from the forgotten works of many a Greek and 
Latin sage. But, be this as it may, I know, and all 
his acquaintances are fully convinced of the same, 
that his forte lies in a very comprehensive knowl- 
edge of Irish history, Irish character, topography, 
and legends. 

Dr. Bob and I sat opposite each other before a 
merry turf-fire. I had some freshly-written manu- 
script before me. For some time, he sat regarding 
me with sagacious scrutiny, as if making a diagnosis 
respecting the state of my mental faculties. 

“At the old work? ” pronounced he at last. 

“Yes,” answered I, “I have here some legends 
whose truth I am endeavoring to verify by oral and 
historical testimony.” 

“A laborious task you have taken on yourself,” 
pursued he. “ I see,” he continued, referring to a 
former conversation of ours, “ that there is one 
class which you call the impossible legend, of any 
example of which you can give no verification. 
This is a class, however, in which are contained 
greater numbers than in all the others put together. 
It is a class commo'n to all time and to all nations, 
particularly to the Greeks. Some of them are very 
beautiful. Do you remember the myth on which 
Euripides has founded his play of ‘Alcestis’?” 

“ If I do,” answered I, “ my idea of it is some- 
what shadowy. It is a long time since I read it.” 


28 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


“Well,” continued Dr. Bob, “there was a king 
called Admetus, who once treated Apollo hospita- 
bly. Admetus, when he found out who Apollo 
was, and saw him about to take his departure for 
Olympus, asked the god to confer immortality upon 
him. Apollo answered, that, if he (Admetus) 
could get a substitute to die for him, his life might 
be prolonged. Upon this, Admetus applied to his 
parents, who were old and infirm : but, as age 
advances, the love of life seems to increase; and 
both father and mother refused to die for him. 
Admetus then applies to his wife, the young and 
beautiful Alcestis, who cheerfully yields up life for 
the love of her husband, and thereupon dies. Then 
follows the funeral-feast. Hercules, returning from 
one of his labors, comes to the palace. lie en- 
ters, and inquires the cause of the mourning. On 
hearing the story, he immediately makes an excur- 
sion to the infernal regions, where he finds Alcestis, 
and brings her back, veiled. He carries her into 
the palace, where Admetus now sits, regretting what 
he had done, and mourning for his beautiful and 
faithful wife. Hercules, to test his fidelity, covers 
Alcestis more closely with her veil, and says that he 
has brought another and more beautiful wife to 
Admetus. But the sorrowful Admetus answers, that 
he shall never more marry, and that he shall soon 
follow across the gloomy Styx her he loved so well. 
Whereupon Hercules lifts the veil, discloses Alces- 
tis restored to mortal life; and all ends happily. 


THE CROSS ON THE GRAVE. 


29 


But,” continued the doctor, after a learned disser- 
tation on the beauties of the Greek myth, “ did it 
ever strike you how it is that Hercules, who, most 
probably, was a real personage, had a number of 
achievements attributed to him impossible to be per- 
formed by any single hero, no matter how strong 
and valorous ? ” 

“ For the same reason,” answered I, “ that, to bring 
matters nearer home, Fionn, Cuchullin, Conal Cear- 
nagh, Curigh, the son of Daire, and the other great 
warriors of early Irish history, are represented as 
performing a number of actions equally impossible. 
The magnified actions of a number of heroes were, 
in the lapse of time, confounded by the poets and 
Shanachies with those of one man, and thereby 
attributed to him .” 

“It is so,” said Dr. Bob, with an approving 
glance. “ But I see the name of Saint Patrick on 
your manuscript. To what class does your legend 
belong ? ” 

“ To the first,” I answered ; “ for several of the 
incidents in it, as you will see, are impossible. Yet, 
as it illustrates and accounts for a universal custom 
at Irish funerals, it is well worth preserving.” And 
I read for him the following legend : — 

THE CROSS ON THE GRAVE. 

Saint Patrick had a servant named Duan the 
Slender. The duty of this servant was to supply 
fuel for the household of the saint. One chilly 


30 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


winter day, he went with his axe into the forest to 
cut timber; and, on arriving at a weird and lonely 
glade, he saw an aged rowan tree, or mountain-ash, 
upon its border. He immediately commenced to 
cut it down ; but his axe was very blunt from con- 
stant use, and his work, therefore, progressed very 
slowly. The morning wore away, and noon came ; 
but as yet he had scarcely cut half a dozen inches 
into the stubborn trunk of the tree : so he sat down 
at length beside it, weary and sad, and began to 
complain, rather loudly, of the poverty that pre- 
vented him from buying a new and sharper axe. As 
he sat thus, a voice behind him called out, “ Duan 
the Slender ! ” three times. 

Duan the Slender turned quickly round, and be- 
held, standing near, two young and handsome men 
of rather diminutive stature. They had long, flow- 
ing, lustrous hair, and dark, piercing eyes, that 
seemed to penetrate to the very soul of Duan the 
Slender, and were clad in luminous green garments. 
Duan arose, and looked upon them wonderingly. 

“ Have you called me ? ” he said at length, half 
afraid, on account of their strange looks and ap- 
parel. 

“Yes,” answered one : “we have called you, that 
we may do you a service if you are willing. Your 
axe is very blunt, and your labor is heavy.” 

“ It is,” answered Duan, catching up his axe, and 
looking disdainfully at its edge. 

“We will give you a new one, that will cut down 


THE CROSS ON THE GRAVE. 


31 


the whole forest in a day, if you comply with our 
request,” said the young man. 

“I will do any thing,” answered Duan, “to get 
rid of this useless and ancient axe, and get a new 
and sharp one.” 

“It is well,” returned the young man. “Here is 
our request. After the mass, when Saint Patrick 
turns round to bless the people, ask him who are 
they that can never share in the light of the "gospel, 
that can never go to heaven.” 

“ I will do it,” said Duan the Slender. “ And 
now give me the axe; for I must finish my work 
and begone.” 

They went into the forest, and returned with a 
sharp axe of gleaming blue steel. This they gave 
to Duan, saying that they would meet him in the 
same place on the morrow for his answer. They 
then departed ; and Duan the Slender cut down the 
tree without trouble, and took some of its dryest 
branches home. 

Early next morning, when the saint, after cele- 
brating the holy mass, turned round to bless the 
people, Duan the Slender arose, and called out in 
a loud voice, “ Who are they in this land that shall 
never enter heaven ? ” 

“‘Duine Airiachs,’ or the people of air,” an- 
swered the saint. “But, O Duan the Slender! why 
have you asked me this question, that will bring sure 
and sudden destruction upon you ? ” 

Duan waited till mass was quite over, and the 


32 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


saint had entered his dwelling. He then told Saint 
Patrick what had happened, and the promise he had 
made to the two strange young men. “ It is, I fear, 
a fatal promise for you,” said the saint; “for, when 
they hear the woful answer from your lips, you 
will surely be torn to pieces. But, however, there 
is one plan by which you may escape their fury. 
You must perform your promise ; but, when you go 
out into the forest-glade, there dig a grave, and 
place yourself in it, with the mattock and shovel 
placed over you in the shape of our holy symbol, 
the cross. Thus await their coming, give them 
their answer; and, with the blessed sign above you, 
they cannot do you harm.” 

Duan the Slender took his mattock and shovel, 
went out to the weird glade in the forest, and did 
exactly as the saint had directed. He had scarcely 
lain himself down in the grave, with the mattock 
and shovel placed crosswise above him, when he 
heard the patter of innumerable feet sounding 
through the forest, and, on looking up, beheld his 
place of refuge surrounded by a countless crowd of 
the same beings he had seen on the previous day. 
The two young men who had given him the axe 
stood on the edge of the grave, and, after gazing on 
him for some time, asked him for his answer. 

“ I asked the saint,” exclaimed Duan the Slender ; 
“and he said that the ‘Duine Airiachs’ were they 
that should never enter the kingdom of heaven.” 

Immediately a wild yell of fury and sorrow arose 


SHIRT OF MAIL. 


33 


from the great crowd. They pressed closer round, 
and attempted to drag Duan from the grave ; but 
the blessed sign prevented them. At length, when 
they found their vengeful efforts unavailing, they 
turned, and, with another shrill and wailing cry of 
sorrow and baffled anger, disappeared amid the 
lonely recesses of the forest. Duan the Slender 
left his place of refuge, and went safely back to his 
holy master ; but, ever since, the people of Ireland, 
at the burial of their friends, make, with mattock 
and shovel, Saint Patrick’s cross above the grave. 

“ It is the custom, certainly,” said Dr. Bob. “ It 
is curious that a similar story, differing only in a 
few slight details, is related in ‘ The Tripartite Life 
of Saint Patrick.’ But I see that you are eager to 
commence a legend, I suppose belonging to your 
second class. Let us have it, then, by all means.” 

“Yes,” I said. “ Here is a legend, which, I think, 
can be established as a true one, by oral and living 
testimony ; ” and I read for the erudite son of 
Galen the 

# . 

SHIRT OF MAIL. 

In a valley, amid that wild range of mountains 
that separates the plain of Limerick from the 
northern confines of Cork, there grew, some years 
ago, an aged hawthorn, called by the surrounding 
peasantry Sgach na Three Theige , or the Bush of 
the Three Timothies. The reader, if he refer to 
another tale contained in this volume, will see 


3 


34 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


therein how the tree got its remarkable name ; but 
with that we have nothing to do at present. This 
tree seemed to have stood there for centuries. It 
was, however, cut down, to the great rage of the 
inhabitants of the valley in which it grew, by a 
thieving peasant of a remote hamlet, who made the 
boxes of a number of cart-wheels from its trunk. 
It stood upon a level tongue of land that projected 
between the meeting of two mountain streams. 

Many centuries ago, there dwelt an old chief upon 
the neighboring plain of Cork, in a castle whose 
ruins may yet be seen rising in stern grandeur from 
a green knoll at the southern foot of the mountain- 
range. This chief had an only and beautiful daugh- 
ter, whose hand was sought in marriage by several 
of the young knights around. There were two com- 
petitors, however, who eclipsed the claims of all 
the rest. One of them was Sir Henry de Rupe, 
belonging to the powerful house of Fermoy ; and the 
other Sir John Fitzgerald, a scion of the still more 
powerful house of Desmond. 

The rivalry of these two young knights soon 
merged into hate and bitterness. At a wassail in 
the castle of the old chief, they met one night. 
They quarrelled ; and, ere the wassail was over, one 
challenged the other to settle their claims by the 
then usual ordeal of single combat- The day and 
place were appointed, to the great delight, accord- 
ing to the legend, of the old chief, who said that he 
would cheerfully give his daughter to the conqueror. 


SHIRT OF MAIL. 


35 


Some short time, however, before the day appointed, 
the two young knights met, accidentally and alone, 
on the green tongue of land mentioned above. 
Again they quarrelled; and finally agreed then and 
there, without witnesses, to settle their differences in 
mortal combat ; and that the vanquished should be 
buried where he fell. 

It was a long and terrible struggle. S.ir Henry 
de Rupe conquered, slew his rival, and, according 
to the previous agreement, buried him in his armor 
on the scene of the combat. 

It is now nearly twenty years since a young man 
of one of the mountain villages dreamt that there 
was a great treasure buried beneath the roots of the 
white-thorn of the Three Timothies, which grew on 
the identical spot indicated by the legend. He and 
some of his companions went one night, and dug 
beneath the aged tree. After excavating to a depth 
of about three feet, they discovered a heavy lump 
of steel. They dug further; but finally their search 
for the treasure proved unsuccessful. This lump of 
steel remained in the village for a long time, and 
was a great curiosity. It was made up of a number 
of rings, all stuck together by rust : it was, in 
fact, a shirt of chain mail. It is a great pity that it 
was not preserved, and sent to the Royal Irish 
Academy, where there is, I believe, but another 
similar specimen ; but the curious people who went 
to see it each took away a ring or two, and thus it 
ultimately disappeared. 


36 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


“ This, I think,” said I to the doctor, “ is sufficient 
proof of the truth of the legend.” 

Dr. Bob looked logical and unconvinced for some 
time, but at last admitted that it was. 

“ And now,” he said, “ for your legend of the third 
class.” 

“ Here goes,” said I ; “ and it will be a short one.” 
So I read for him, as follows, the legend of 

BLACK HUGH OF DARA AND DONAL O’SULLIVAN. 

Hugh Dhuv Condon had once been the owner of 
one of those strong square castles, or bawns, so many 
of whose ruins may still be seen adding to the pic- 
turesqueness of quiet valley, gentle slope, craggy 
gorge, or solitary rock, throughout the south of Ire- 
land. During the last Desmond war, he had fought 
against the forces of Queen Elizabeth, and shared 
in the hardships and reverses of his master, the 
unfortunate Earl James. Thus it happened that 
when the war came to a termination in his neigh- 
borhood, and the English had taken the Earl of 
Desmond prisoner, Hugh Condon’s border tower 
was burned, and razed to the ground, by the cruel 
myrmidons of the government, his wife and children 
slain, and he himself, of course, outlawed. 

Hugh Condon swore an oath that he would have 
vengeance. He kept his vow. There was a pass 
near the cave in which he lived with his followers, 
through which detachments of the English troops 


BLACK HUGH AND DONAL O'SULLIVAN. 37 


had to pass while marching from their Limerick gar- 
risons to those of Cork. Often had Hugh and his 
fierce followers fallen upon these detachments, and 
frequently had they conquered, and taken summary 
vengeance for their wrongs. It was by such ex- 
ploits that Hugh of Dara’s name gradually went 
abroad as that of the most celebrated outlaw in 
Munster. The mountains in which his cave was sit- 
uated were at that time thickly clothed with woods, 
— offshoots from tlm great forest of Kylemore, — 
which extended along the steep slopes, branched 
higher still up the rocky and savage gorges, and 
even clothed parts of the bleak and desolate ex- 
panses of bog that stretched often from summit to 
summit between those wild hills. A small ballagh , 
or bridle-path, led across this chain of hills, leading 
in a straight course from the plain of Cork into that 
of Limerick. 

Along the aforesaid ballagh , Hugh Condon was 
riding one wintry day, about a year and a half after 
the capture of the Earl of Desmond by the Eng- 
lish. He had not ridden far when he perceived a 
plumed horseman, clad in splendid armor, galloping 
towards him from a far turning of the bridle-way. 
On either side of Hugh, there was a deep, marshy 
bog, so that the’ stranger could not pass, unless by 
the path. Now, Hugh of Dara, by the strange 
horseman’s splendid attire, judged him to be an 
Englishman, and determined not to let him pass 
without a word and a blow. 


38 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


“ Draw ! ” exclaimed Hugh, as the stranger rode 
up. “ I am lord of those mountains, and you shall 
not pass the way.” 

“By my good faith!” answered the stranger, 
reining in his steed ; “ but this is surly cheer to meet 
on such a wild day. Let me pass, good fellow, and 
you will not repent of your courtesy ” 

“No!” answered Hugh stubbornly; for he now 
thought really that the stranger was an Englishman. 
“You shall not pass, unless over my body!” 

“ Then, be it so ! ” exclaimed the strange horse- 
man ; and, with that, he dashed, sword in hand, at 
Hugh. But Hugh was a stout soldier, and held his 
ground so as to hinder the stranger from passing 
on. 

“ I warn you to let me pass ! ” exclaimed the lat- 
ter once more, as he prepared for a more vigorous 
attack upon Hugh. “Look down the mountain- 
slopes to the south, and you will see those approach- 
ing before whom, when they come up, you will 
assuredly be hewn in pieces.” 

Hugh looked down the mountains, and beheld a 
small army marching across them from the plain. 

“ Who are you ? ” he asked at length, still, how- 
ever,' keeping steadily on his guard. 

“I am Donal, Prince of Beare,” answered the 
stranger; “and now let me pass, for I must find a 
camping-place for my followers.” 

Of course, Black Hugh of Dara not only let him 
pass, but brought him and his followers to a safe and 


BLACK HUGH AND DONAL O'SULLIVAN. 39 

sheltered valley, by the side of Ardpatrick Hill, on 
the verge of the Limerick plain. Here they rested 
for three days. On the second day, Black Hugh of 
Dara gave them notice that they were to be attacked 
the following night by the Barrys, the Roches, and 
part of the English garrison of Mallow; and showed 
Donal of Beare a pass in which it would be easy to 
defeat his foes as they marched through. Donal 
O’Sullivan placed an ambuscade in the pass, and 
that night defeated his enemies with great slaughter. 
The peasantry who tell the legend point out the 
different localities mentioned in it, and add that 
Black Hugh of Dara followed the fortunes of Do- 
nal, Prince of Beare, in his gallant retreat to the 
north. 

u It is an interesting thing,” said Dr. Bob, to find 
out even one of the stages of that memorable 
retreat, unequalled by any thing in ancient times, 
except the exploit of Xenophon and the Ten 
Thousand.” 

“ It is,” answered I ; “ and I have historical testi- 
mony as to the truth of part of the legend, at least; 
for it is mentioned in the ‘Annals of the Four 
Masters,’ that, during his flight to the north, Donal 
O’Sullivan, Prince of Beare, and his forces, en- 
camped for some days by the Hill of Ardpat- 
rick.” 

“No matter,” exclaimed my companion excitedly, 
“fill your glass, and we will drink a toast.” 


40 


A BATCH OF LEGENDS. 


I filled my glass; and there and then Dr. Bob 
Barry and I drank a flowing bumper to the memory 
of Donal of Beare, one of the bravest chiefs that 
ever drew sword beneath the fair hills of holy Ire- 
land. 




The Master of Lisfinry. 


CHAPTER I. 

O NE sweet June evening in the year 1579, the 
sentinels were ranged for watch and ward along 
the walls of Youghal; some leaning in an indolent 
and listless manner against the parapets and over 
the breastworks, others walking quietly to and fro, 
their buff-coats and armor half unbraced, and their 
long halberds glittering in the soft and merry 
sunshine. Beneath them lay the town with its 
strong, stern-looking castles, its quaint houses, with 
their pointed gables and antique doorways, its 
inhabitants half astir and listless too ; for the 
quiet and warmth of the evening seemed to have 
as much effect on their movements and proceedings 
as it had upon those of the lazy soldiers upon the 
castle-tops and the walls. Southward spread out 
the blue, bright, and placid ocean, with a few sails 
in the harbor and in the offing; while, in a landward 
direction, the scenery extended itself into a broad 

41 


42 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


panorama of mountain, forest, and river, enlivened at 
intervals by gray and stately castles, each of which 
sent up its column of blue smoke into the calm, 
amber-colored sky. 

On the northern ramparts, two sentinels were sit- 
ting, engaged in a quiet, halfidreamy conversation. 
They w T ere both aged men. Their faces were turned 
to a dark bronze by constant exposure to both war 
and weather; but their bodies seemed still strong 
and stalwart, stronger, perhaps, and more capable of 
endurance, than when they first donned the helmet 
and sword, and took to the wandering trade of a 
soldier. 

“ Gurth of the Stream,” said one, addressing his 
comrade, “ I would we were both back again in our 
own blithe braes of Northumberland! I do not 
like this cooped life of ours, ever within stone walls, 
and waiting, always waiting, for the war-cry of 
the Jrishry, that has not sounded on my ears since 
last Christmas-tide.” 

“Ralph Goodwyn,” said Gurth, “from my heart I 
wish your wish. By the axe of my father, but it is 
enough to sour a man’s blood in his veins to sit here, 
like a Yorkshire churn when its last butter is made, 
and never find any one thing for our hands to do, 
save sharpening our swords, that, God wot, are sharp 
enough for the work they have to do, and brightening 
our tasses and breastplates ! Ah ! those were merry 
days when we chased the deer together through the 
South Forest, and courted the blithe lasses by the 
Brig o’ Reed.” 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 43 

“Blithe they were, and merry,” rejoined Ralph 
Goodwyn. “ Dost thou remember the day I fought 
Simon o’ the Mill for the love of bonnie Alice of 
Elsdon ? ” 

“ A bright day it was, Ralph, but a black day for 
Simon o’ the Mill.” 

“But it was near being the same for me, too, 
Gurth. When our good swords were shivered, and 
we went to work with the dirk, he got his point 
between the bars of my basnet, and gave me this ; ” 
and he pointed to a great scar across his face. “ He 
fell, Gurth, and I had no rival for the love of my 
bonnie Alice. But, alas ! it was too short, and she 
died, poor thing, ere the autumn-tide ; and ever since 
I am a wanderer, and a man of the sword, like your- 
self.” 

“As forme,” rejoined Gurth, “ I took to the plume, 
and followed the tuck of drum, to feed my own wild 
fancy. I could never love maiden like you, Ralph, 
though the gleam and the blink of her eye were as 
bright as the steel of my dirk. But what is that ? ” 
he exclaimed, starting to his feet, and pointing north- 
ward to the skirt of the ancient forest that stretched 
along the bank of the Blackwater. Both looked in 
the direction to which he pointed, and beheld the 
glitter of swords and spears and the waving of plumes, 
and the flutter of advancing banners, as if a great 
army were approaching. And so it was. Even as 
they looked, a large body of light-armed footmen, or 
kerne , emerged from the wood, and formed in a body 


44 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


on the clear plain outside. Long lines of horsemen 
followed, with fluttering banners and glistening 
armor, then other bodies of foot ; then, again, horse- 
men, falling into regular positions as they came, un- 
til at length a large and numerous army lay formed 
before them on the plain, but far beyond the range 
of the light cannon upon the walls. 

“ Fire the alarm-gun,” cried Ralph, “ and call up 
the captain of the guard ! ” 

A small falconet on one of the towers was fired by 
Gurth ; and, in a few moments, the ramparts were 
thronged with men, the different officers running to 
and fro, giving their commands, and putting the now 
any thing but lazy soldiers into their proper order. 

“ Ho ! ” exclaimed the captain of the guard, a tall, 
stern-looking soldier, when the proper arrangements 
were made, “ they seem still unwarlike in their inten- 
tions ; for here comes a courier with a flag of truce, 
and, God wot, I suppose a civil message. Better 
had they thrown us the gage of battle at once in 
the shape of a pill of iron from the mouth of one of 
their falconets, than come thus with a white ’ker- 
chief on the point of a lance ; for we can hold no 
parley and have no truce with those wild Irishry ! ” 

As he spoke, a knight from the Irish forces rode 
forth, accompanied by a mounted gilly, or hench- 
man, and came at an easy gallop towards the walls. 
He was clad in a suit of bright armor, his helmet 
being surmounted by a tall red plume; and in his 
hand he held his long spear aloft, on the point of 


THE MASTER OF LISFINR Y. 


45 


which fluttered a white ’kerchief, like a small ban- 
neret. He was soon within speaking-distance of the 
walls, and, reining in his steed, stood, like a tall 
statue of iron, motionless, his gilly close behind him, 
looking with fierce eyes upon the formidable array 
of men-at-arms upon the walls. In a few mo- 
ments, he raised his visor, and with a voice loud and 
clear as the tones of a trumpet, addressed himself 
to those whom he considered to be the leaders of 
the town. 

“ Vassals of the Red Queen,” he said, “the high 
and mighty prince, John of Desmond, sends ye 
greeting by me, James, Knight of Lisfinry, and bids 
ye to depart in peace from his town of Youghal. 
He gives ye two days to embark. If, at the end of 
that time, ye still remain, he considers ye are his, for 
death or life, with your possessions in the town. God 
and the right ! ” 

“Give him,” exclaimed the commander of the 
town, who was now standing on the rampart, “give 
him one sample of the medicine that the Red Queen, 
as he calls her, sends to her rebellious subjects, to 
cure their contumacy. Gurth of the Stream, point 
that falconet, and shoot him down ! ” 

Gurth was ready at the word ; and the sound of 
the falconet’s explosion was scarcely ringing in their 
ears, when they beheld the Knight of the Red Plume 
stretched upon the plain. He was not hurt, how- 
ever, though the ball hgd killed his horse, which, 
falling, brought the knight to the ground, partly 


46 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


under him. The gilly was determined not to remain 
idle, however. It was amazing jto see with what 
dexterity he extricated his master from beneath the 
body of the dead steed, and mounted him on his 
own ; then, as the knight spurred away, half-stunned 
by the fall, the faithful attendant ran by his side with 
the agility of a deer, until they reached the halting- 
place of their brothers-in-arms. 

Night had fallen upon the town ; but the sentinels 
were still watchful upon the walls. They could dis- 
tinguish no indications of a stir among the Irish, 
save that, ever and anon, a slight murmur arose out- 
side, at some distance from where they walked their 
rounds ; and black masses, which they took for the 
waving shadows of trees, appeared to move to and 
fro in every direction, amid the copse - wood and 
scattered forest. The morning soon explained what 
these black, moving masses indicated. The sun 
had scarcely risen, when the ramparts were again 
thronged with officers and men-at-arms ; and, looking 
out, they beheld huge piles of earth and brushwood, 
behind which the Irish forces lay crouched, secure 
themselves, but close enough, and in positions, to pick 
off with musketry the defenders of the walls. No 
horses could be seen, — they were picketed in the 
thick forest behind ; but here and there the mouths 
of cannons protruded from the brushwood and 
clayey ramparts, while the shock heads of the fierce 
array outside, with a gleaming helmet occasionally 
amongst them, might be seen popping up at inter- 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


47 


vals from the covert, and examining the fortifications. 
All at once a wild war-cry arose which seemed to 
proceed from every part of the forest. This was fol- 
lowed by the rolling cracks of the match-locks and 
rnusketoons, and the loud roar of cannon, which, 
with the answering explosions from the walls, made 
a din that soon woke the town, and struck terror 
into its inhabitants. All day the firing continued 
with considerable loss to the besieged. In several 
places, the walls were partially breached ; but, in one 
part, the foundations seemed to have entirely given 
way, a few perches of it lying almost level with the 
ground. Up this breach, on the evening of that 
day, a large body of the Irish were rushing, headed 
by the knights and gentlemen who composed the 
officers of Desmond’s army. They were met gal- 
lantly by the English, and driven back almost to 
their intrenchments. On they came again, however, 
crowding up the breach like the waves of the sea. 
To and fro swayed the combatants, re-enforcements 
pouring in to each side, until the whole battle seemed 
concentrated round that breach. The Irish were 
again beginning to waver, when a cry arose among 
them, “ Crom Aboo! Follow the Red Feather! 
Hurrah for Lisfinry and the Red Plume ! ” and, look- 
ing up, they saw the Master of Lisfinry far above 
them at one side ; his long plume waving, and his 
heavy sword clutched in both hands, as he hacked 
and hewed at the English who surrounded him. A 
simultaneous rush Avas made by the Irish towards 


48 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


this point ; and the English, by absolute dint of 
pressure, body to body, were at length forced to 
give way, and retreat from the walls, the Irish fol- 
lowing with a wild shout into the town. At this 
moment, Gurth of the Stream, who had not aban- 
doned his beloved gun till the last extremity, leaped, 
with a heavy battle-axe in his hand, from the ram- 
part, and, coming behind the Knight of Lisfinry, with 
one blow brought him to the ground. Friend and 
foe went in one rush over the body of the knight ; 
but he heeded them not, for sorely wounded by the 
axe of Gurth, and half-smothered by his helmet, he 
soon sank into a deep swoon, and lay as heedless 
and as quiet as those who had fared even worse, and 
lay dead around him. The battle was soon over. 
The English were almost entirely cut to pieces, 
very few of them escaping to their ships in the har- 
bor; and, as night fell, the entire town and its envi- 
rons were occupied by the Irish army. 

When the Knight of the Red Plume awoke to 
something like consciousness from his stupor, it was 
in the house of Hugh Walsh, an old and worthy bur- 
gess of the town, who had been favorable to the in- 
terest of the Earl of Desmond, and was, therefore, 
now left in peaceable possession of his property. The 
room in which the knight" woke was •some what small 
in its dimensions. It was floored and wainscoted with 
oak of an extremely dark color ; but its gloom was 
dissipated by a beautifully-carved, stone-sashed win- 
dow, which threw the morning light, in a cheerful 


THE MASTER OF LISFWRY. 


49 


stream, upon the wall and floor. The knight’s first 
sensation on awaking was of a racking pain in his 
head and every member of his body. He endeav- 
ored to turn himself upon his curtained bed, but 
could not; while, at the same time, he was half-con- 
scious of the presence of another person in the 
room, whom he tried to speak to, but, in a few mo- 
ments, fell into a half-awake and dreamy stupor 
again. While this lasted, he was aware of a voice 
singing beside him in a low, sweet cadence ; and, as 
he recovered again, he could distinguish the words 
of the song. They floated through his mind with a 
soothing sweetness, rendered doubly sweet by their 
contrast with the clang and crash of battle that rang 
so loudly in his ears on the evening before. The 
voice sang as follows the words of an old love-song 
of the period : — 

I met within the greenwood wild 
My own true knight that loved me dearly, 

When summer airs blew soft and mild, 

And linnets sang, and waves rolled clearly ; 

And, oh ! we pledged such loving vows. 

In moss-grown glade, all green and rilly, 

Where lightly waved the rustling boughs 
'Mid thy dear woods, sweet Imokilly ! 

I met my love in festive hall, 

'Mid lords and knights and warriors fearless ; 

And there my love, among them all, 

To my fond heart was ever peerless ; 

And he was fond, and time could ne’er 
His love for me make cold and chilly : 

4 


50 


THE MASTER OF LIS FI NR Y. 


Ah ! then I knew nor grief nor care, 

’Mid thy green woods, sweet Imokilly ! 

From Rincrew’s turrets, high and hoar. 

When autumn floods were wildly sweeping, 

I saw my love ride to the shore, 

I saw him in the torrent leaping, 

To meet me ’neath the twilight dim. 

In bowery nook, secure and stilly ; 

But the ruthless waters swallowed him, 

By thy green woods, sweet Imokilly ! 

The knight now made an endeavor to see the per- 
son of the singer; but, in turning over for that 
purpose, he threw his weight upon his left arm, 
which had been broken on his falling beneath the 
axe of Gurth, and the sudden spasm of pain occa- 
sioned by the movement made him fall backward 
with a heavy groan. He was, however, on looking 
up once more, more than compensated for the pain 
he caused himself. A young and beautiful girl was 
bending over him, and regarding him with a look in 
which a modest shyness was blended with anxiety 
and compassion. Her long yellow hair, falling in 
shining tresses upon her shoulders, almost touched 
the face of the knight as he looked up half-wonder- 
struck; and she adjusted the bed -covering so 
gently, and handled his wounded arm so tenderly, 
that he began to think himself in a dream, in which 
some bright angel had come near, and was minister- 
ing to his wants. But the effects of the swoon were 
now gradually disappearing from his brain; and he 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


51 


began to recollect himself; and to remember the 
events of the preceding day. He now began to 
raise himself with more care, and endeavored to ask 
a few questions; but the young girl put her hand 
to her lips, and motioned him that he was to keep 
silence, and to try and sleep once more. He lay 
back, and fell into a sweet and long sleep, from which 
he was only awaked towards evening by the step 
of some one entering the room. It was the kind 
leech, an old monk, who had set his arm the preced- 
ing night, and bound up the great axe-wound in his 
head ; and he was now coming to see how his patient 
was progressing. 

“James of Lisfinry,” said the monk, “the town 
is in possession of my kinsman, the Desmond, who 
has declared, that, were it not for thy tact and thy 
bravery, he would be outside the walls still.” 

“ Who art thou ? ” ' answered the knight. “ Art 
thou Gerald the monk, whose life I saved at the 
foray of Sliabh Gua ? ” 

“I am Gerald the Franciscan,” said the monk; 
- “ and, by God’s special grace, I am enabled and pre- 
served to pay back the debt, — to set thy broken 
arm aright, and to bind up the great wound in thy 
head, through which thy life was fast oozing last 
eventide.” 

“Hast thou found the child of thy brother, the 
murdered Knight of Barna? ” asked the knight. 

“No,” said the monk. “It was in my wanderings 
to find her that the vassals of Ormond caught me 


52 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


at Sliabh Gua, and took me for a spy ; and then my 
wanderings would have ceased, were it not for thy 
onslaught on my captors. Alas ! since the night of 
the murder of my brother and his followers, in his 
House of Barna, I have wandered for years, but 
can find no traces of the poor little maiden. It 
is ten years now since the murderers confessed before 
they died, that they forgot and left her behind at 
their camping-place in the forest. She was but seven 
years old then, and, ah me ! I fear she died of hun- 
ger and cold, or that the wolves fell upon her; and 
she was the last remnant of a once brave and gal- 
lant house. As for thee, knight,” he continued, 
after a, pause, “ thou wantest but quiet and sleep, 
and a good nurse, and thou wilt soon be able to take 
into thy hands and wield that good sword of thine, 
that did thy work so well upon our persecutors 
yesterday.” 

“Ah!” said the knight, “had I the nurse that 
watched over me this morning ! ” But he recollected 
himself, and changed the conversation. “Think 
you,” he continued, “ that the English will return 
again, and attempt to recapture the town? Would 
that I were sound in head and limb ere they did 
so!” 

“ I know not,” answered the monk. “ But, in the 
mean time, your best • chance, under a watchful 
Providence, for getting into bodily- soundness again, 
is to speak little, and to keep quiet, and free from 
mental trouble.” 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


58 


CHAPTER II. 

We shall now leave the Knight of the Red 
Plume to his repose, and follow for a time the for- 
tunes of the old monk’s niece, the Orphan of Barna. 
About ten years anterior to the time of the fore- 
going incident, there stood an old castellated man- 
sion in a deep gap, or pass, on the southern declivity 
of Sliabh Gua, or Knockmeledown Mountains. In 
this mansion dwelt Sir Thomas Fitzgerald, or, as he 
was more frequently called, the Knight of Barna, 
together with his young daughter, and a few follow- 
ers. The knight’s wife had died a few years before ; 
and he, disabled by wounds and hardships in the 
Desmond wars, had retired to spend the remainder 
of his life in his House of Barna, and to bring up his 
young daughter, the sweetest little flower that ever 
bloomed in that wild and turbulent district. 

This district was, in fact, another Debatable 
Land, under the jurisdiction, at one time, of the 
Earl of Desmond, and at others overrun and held 
in subjection by the great rival House of Ormond; 
so that the only protection for any man, lord, or 
vassal holding territory there, was his own watch- 
fulness, cunning, or bravery. The Knight of Barna, 
however, deemed himself secure enough, being a 
near kinsman of the Earl of Desmond, and there- 
fore less liable to the chances of being plundered 


54 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


than the other followers of that great earl; and, 
dwelling also on that slope of the mountains farthest 
from the territory of Ormond, he therefore re- 
tained but a few followers in his service, who could, 
at best, keep but scant watch and ward around his 
dwelling of the gap : but time showed him the bit- 
ter foolishness of such neglect. 

One March night, the Robber of Coumfay, a 
fierce and implacable enemy of the Desmond vas- 
sals, sat with his followers upon the summit of a 
steep hill that overlooked the House of Barna. 
The robber himself was in the act of addressing his 
worthy comrades ; and it was evident, from his 
remarks, that they had just held a council of war, 
and were now making preparations for attacking 
the mansion beneath them. 

“ For myself,” said the robber, at the conclusion 
of his address, — “ for myself, I want but the head of 
the burning old murderer himself. He hanged my 
brother at the gate of Youghal; and he would have 
broken myself upon the wheel, had I not mined my 
dungeon and fled, — and fled, to have this night of 
plunder and sweet revenge ! ” 

“ He burnt my home by the banks of Nier,” ex- 
claimed a wild-looking young fello\v from the centre 
of the throng ; “ and he lopped off my father’s head 
with one sweep of his sword, at the ford of Dangan : 
and I say, burning for burning, and head for head! ” 

“I had my skean at the throat of his nephew at 
the battle of Lisroe,” said a small, dark-complexioned 


THE MASTER OF LISFINR Y. 


55 


man near the chief ; “ and I remembered the wrongs 
of my race, and would have my trusty skean steeped 
to the hilt in his blood, only for the charge of 
the Knight of Rincrew, who bore down like a 
torrent with his men-at-arms upon us, and gave 
me this with a back-slash of his sword,” continued 
he, baring his breast, and exhibiting to those about 
him the mark of a great wound extending from the 
shoulder across his breast-bone. “ But to-night we 
can pay back all.” 

“Yes, and pay yourselves,” exclaimed the Robber 
of Coumfay ; “ for the old wolf of Barna has more 
gold in his house than the mad Knight of Dangan, 
who shod his horse with it. Down, then, and fol- 
low me ; and 6ach man shall have his own revenge, 
and the fair share of spoil that pertains to his degree 
among us.” 

Not a word was spoken as the robbers descended 
the hill towards the devoted House of Barna. No 
watch-dog howled from the courtyard, no sentinel 
looked forth, as that fierce and merciless body of 
marauders surrounded the house, and blocked up 
the gate and every outlet by which the hapless 
sleepers inside might have a chance of escaping. 
The night was intensely dark, notwithstanding 
which the robbers crouched down closely by the 
walls and hedges, while their chief, advancing from 
the gateway, with his long cloak muffled closely 
around him, sat himself quietly down in the middle 
of the courtyard. Here he set up a long, wild, 


56 


THE MASTER OF LI S FIX It Y. 


wailing cry, like that of a woman in distress, and 
continued it, louder and shriller, until at length a 
small window or spy-vent was opened beside the 
door of the mansion, and a head protruded through 
the orifice. 

“What dost thou here, thus so late and untime- 
ly ? said a voice which the robbers recognized at 
once as that of the Knight of Barna. “ What 
bringest thou here, woman ? and why dost thou dis- 
turb my house with thy mad wailing ? ” 

“ Lord of Barna,” answered the robber, feigning 
with practised skill the voice of a woman, “ I am 
Oona, the wife of Shane Gar of the glen. The rob- 
bers from the Ormond’s land beset our house at the 
nightfall: they burned all, and killed my husband 
and my children ; and I am here for shelter and 
vengeance ! ” 

There was now a prolonged undoing of bolts at 
the strong, iron-studded door, during which the 
Robber of Coumfay stole over and stood silently 
beside the jamb, under the black shadow of the 
porch. The door was now cautiously opened, and 
the knight, half-dressed, stepped forth ; but scarcely 
had he done so, when a strong hand clutched him 
by the naked throat, and the robber’s dagger was 
plunged and drawn, and plunged quickly again into 
his heart. He fell across his own door-step with one 
heavy groan, and never stirred more. The robber 
now yelled out a wild and exulting cry, at which 
his companions, rushing from their hiding-places, 


THE MASTER OF US FI NR Y. 


57 ' 

broke into the house, and began to plunder. The 
affrighted servants were all killed, either in their 
beds, or defending themselves upon tiie staircases ; 
and the robbers, now having their fill of plunder, 
assembled in the courtyard, and prepared to set fire 
to the house. 

“The daughter, the daughter!” exclaimed several 
voices, as they recollected that she was still unfound, 
and inside. “ Bring her out, and we’ll yet have a 
ransom for her ! ” 

“ Leave her inside,” said the small dark man who 
had spoken at the consultation upon the hill. “ Leave 
her inside, I say ; and then we’ll have our revenge 
upon the old wolf of Barn a, root and branch.” 

The expected ransom, however, carried the motion 
against the last speaker; and, in a few moments, the 
knight’s daughter was found, cowering, and almost 
dead with affright, upon the stairs, and brought into 
the midst of her father’s murderers. One of them 
brought out a small cloak, and, wrapping it around 
the child, took her in his arms, and, by the order of 
his chief, prepared for their wild journey homeward 
through the forest. The house was now set fire to 
in several places ; and, by the light of the blazing 
roof, the robbers, with their spoil, turned off quickly 
toward the mountains. 

There was a small green glade by the bank of a 
little stream that fell into the Suir, down that de- 
clivity of the Knockmeledown Mountains facing the 
plain of Tipperary, and farthest from the luckless 


58 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


House of Barna. Here, some time before daybreak, 
the robbers halted in order to divide the spoil, and 
to take some refreshment after their night of fatigue 
and blood. The man that held the young Orphan 
of Barna, now laid her down under a tree by a 
small pathway, where, tired out by the motion of 
the wild retreat across the mountains, the poor little 
thing fell into a deep and quiet slumber. Little did 
the poor child dream at that moment, on her chilly 
bed, that the headless body of her father, and her 
father’s vassals, and her native home of Barna, were 
one undistinguishable mass of black and burnt 
ashes, and that the eyes that once looked pleasantly 
upon her were dim and rayless, and the lips that 
often kissed her pretty cheeks were bloodless, and 
parted by the agony of a violent death, a few 
perches beneath her upon the green. The Robber 
of Coumfay, one of the most bloodthirsty and mer- 
ciless freebooters of the time, had brought his share 
of the spoil with him, — namely, the head of the 
Knight of Barna ; and had laid it beside him as he 
sat in the midst of the glade, among his companions. 
Under the superintendence of their leader, the spoil 
was soon divided satisfactorily among the robbers, 
and they all now prepared to refresh themselves. 

“Paudheen Gob, come forth,” said the leader, 
•“ and give us a morsel of that bread of yours, and a 
draught of the red wine you brought so well 
through the forest. You must have the largest 
draught yourself for your pains.” 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


59 


The worthy distinguished by the delightful appel- 
lation of Paudheen Gob was a lialf-fool kept by the 
robbers for their amusement ; but he also served 
occasionally as a most useful and tractable beast of 
burden. The literal meaning of Paudheen Gob is 
Little Paddy of the Mouth; but Paudheen himself, 
like Little John, the bosom friend of Robin Hood, 
was a most complete antithesis to the signification 
of his flattering cognomen. He was considerably 
over six feet in height, with a formidable breadth 
of body and shoulders, and a small bullet-head, gar- 
nished with a mouth reaching almost from ear to 
ear, from which tremendous orifice, indeed, he de- 
rived his title of Paudheen Gob. 

Paudheen gave a groan of distress and fatigue, 
when he heard the call of his chief ; but the promise 
of the draught of wine mollified his tribulation 
somewhat: so, arising from where he had stretched 
himself among the brushwood, he walked into the 
centre of th% throng of robbers, and laid down his 
burden, which consisted of some manchets of bread, 
and a small cask of wine they had found in the 
House of Barna. The robbers now set to in good 
earnest, and soon despatched the bread. The wine, 
in a short time, shared the same fate ; and they all 
stood up, half-intoxicated, and began to descend 
towards the plain. They were fully half a mile 
away from the little glade, before they remembered 
that they had left the young Orphan of Barna 
behind them ; so, halting once more, the chief 


60 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


ordered Paudheen Gob to retrace his steps, and bring 
her with him. Paudheen, not at all relishing an 
excursion by himself backwards through the ghostly 
darkness of the forest, began to whimper, and make 
excuses ; but a few bangs from the flat of his chief’s 
sword across the shoulders made him dart oif in the 
direction of the sleeping child. To Paudheen’s ex- 
cited imagination, as he went along, the black trunks 
of the trees seemed like ranks of men-at-arms ready to 
receive him ; and when, on coming towards the spot 
where they had left the child, he saw a naked frag- 
ment of a tree standing before him in the path, 
with a few sprigs trembling on its top, and one 
branch projecting upwards like a spear, his affrighted 
brain manufactured it into a knight armed at all 
points ; and, with a start and a bound, he turned and 
fled back again in the direction of the robbers. 
“Earla Mor, Earla Mor ! ” yelled he, as he dashed 
along at a mad pace through the brushwood, “ The 
Great Earl is afther us wid all his min ! Shamus 
o’Couinfay, save me, save me, or I’m kilt an’ lost 
this morthial minnit ! ” 

Shamus of Coumfay waited until the fool came 
up ; and then, thinking from Paudheen’s mad gesticu- 
lations that they were actually pursued, he and his 
companions dashed on in an easterly direction, and 
took to the mountains once more in order to reach 
the cave where they were wont to hide themselves 
and their spoil on occasions like this. 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


61 


CHAPTER III. 

It was broad daylight when the Orphan of Barna 
awoke ; and there, sitting upon the path, she beheld 
a small, handsome man, with a gittern, or guitar, 
across his knee, other extraordinary-looking para- 
phernalia around him, and a young, pale woman 
beside him, who seemed to be his wife. The change 
of scene was such a wild contrast to her home, that 
the poor little maiden began to rub her eyes, think- 
ing it all a dream ; but, gradually awaking to the 
consciousness of her situation, she sank back shiver- 
ing upon her couch of grass, with a low, despairing 
cry. The young woman now arose, and, with affec- 
tionate care, took the child in her arms, and began 
to chafe her cold hands, asking, at the same time, 
a variety of questions. 

When the orphan had answered all, and told the 
circumstances of her situation, as well as the cold 
and terror would allow her, the y.oung woman 
turned to her husband, and began to hold a short 
consultation with him. 

“I think, Jamie Bell,” said she, “we have fallen 
upon a good chance. Since our sweet child died, 
there is no one to dance to thy gittern, or jangle 
the blithe tambour, save myself ; and I am now, as 
thou knowest, ill able to do it.” 

Jamie Bell was one of those itinerant jugglers, or 


62 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


gleemen, who, at that time, roved about in England 
from shire to shire, seeming to own no locality as 
their native place. Jamie’s genius, however, seemed 
to have been somewhat disregarded in England; 
so, leaving his native country with his wife, he had 
landed in Waterford some time previous; and now, 
rambling about through the English-inhabited towms 
along the coast, he was doing a most flourishing 
business. 

“Yes,” answered Jamie, “we cannot do better 
than adopt her as our own. Besides, she has now 
no friends that we can find ; and were we to take 
her back, and the wild Irish of that country to find 
her with us, truly we should stand the blame, and 
the deep dungeon or the gallows-tree would be our 
guerdon for saving her. We will keep her, Lucy.” 

“Wouldst thou like,” said Lucy, turning to the 
child, — “ wouldst thou wish, my pretty dear, to 
come along wi’ us? and we will give thee brave 
spangled dresses, and that pretty tambour yonder 
to play upon.” 

The orphan only nestled closer to the breast of 
the gleeman’s wife ; but she answered nothing. 

“ The dress of our own pretty Maud — poor dear 
Maud ! — will suit her,” said Lucy ; and with that 
she directed her husband to open a box beside him, 
from which she took a small, light-colored but com- 
fortable dress, in which she quickly arrayed the 
young Orphan of Barna. Lucy now clipped the 
long, bright locks of the little orphan ; so that in 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


63 


the strange dress, and the strange company she was 
in, it would be impossible to recognize her. 

For three years the Orphan of Barna rambled 
from town to town with the gleeman and his wife, 
during which time she grew more beautiful day by 
day, and got to play upon the gittern and tambour 
with unwonted skill, and to do all other things per- 
taining to the office of a glee-maiden. One day, 
Jamie Bell, his wife, and the orphan were, showing 
off some of their performances before the admiring 
eyes of the English soldiers, in the courtyard of one 
of the garrisons in Waterford. The young lady of 
Barna wa§ dancing to the tune of Jamie’s gittern, 
when the wife of one of the officers, passing in, 
stopped to have a view of the performance. After 
looking at the child, the lady, who was accompanied 
by her husband, approached Lucy. 

“ I want a maiden, such as yon child, to wait upon 
me,” said she. “ Wilt thou let her stay with me ? or 
is she thy daughter? for methinks she bears no 
resemblance to thy countenance or that of thy hus- 
band.” 

Jamie, who overheard this conversation, before 
his wife could answer, came forward. He was, 
it appears, in great distress, and under some pecu- 
niary misfortune at the time ; and now a thought 
occurred to his mind that he could easily remedy 
all. 

“She is not our daughter, lady,” said he. “We 
rescued her from death at one time ; and as she 


64 


THE MASTER OF LISF1NR Y. 


was an orphan, with no one to keep her, we kept 
her, and brought her up, as thou seest. We 
will give her to thee. What, lady, wilt thou -give 
us in return for her ? ” 

Half a dozen broad gold-pieces easily satisfied the 
conscience of Jamie; but not so his wife, who, with 
many tears and lamentations, saw the orphan, weep- 
ing bitterly also, led into the garrison by the officer 
and lady. 

About two months after this, while Jamie the 
gleeman was spreading his fame in the city of Kil- 
kenny, his wife took sick and died. With her last 
breath, she abjured Jamie to go and get back the 
little lady of Barna ; and represented to him, as an 
incitement, the assistance she would be to him in 
his avocation. Jamie promised, although he had- 
but a very slight notion of refunding the gold- 
pieces, to get back the child ; but in a few days he 
began to feel the misery of being quite alone in the 
world. So, in a fit of desperation, Jamie set off for 
W aterford, and flourished so well as he went by the 
various towns, villages, and castles, that, on reaching 
his destination, he found his pockets so plentifully 
supplied, that, without many avaricious qualms, he 
could easily give back the money he received from 
the officer’s lady. But it seems it was far easier to 
give the money than to get back the young orphan ; 
and the sad reality was demonstrated in a most 
summary manner to poor Jamie on his demand for 
breaking up the bargain. He was taken up as an 


THE MASTER OF L1SFINRY. 


65 


impostor, and put in the stocks before the gate of 
the fortress. All day long, during every moment 
he could recall his mind from his harsh treatment, 
and the scoffs and jeers of the soldiers and passen- 
gers, Jamie sat planning how he could repay them 
for the indignity. He was set at liberty in the even- 
ing, and next day concealed himself by the side of 
a little green below the ramparts of the castle, 
where the children of the officers were in the habit 
of playing. About noon, to his great joy, he beheld 
the young lady of Barna coming out with some 
children ; and, unobserved by the others, he beck- 
oned to her. She knew him at once, and came joy- 
fully to him ; and the sweetness of Jamie’s tongue 
was such, that she consented to accompany him, and 
to leave the fortress, of which she seemed heartily 
tired. They were both soon beyond pursuit, and 
thus once more the Orphan of Barna was leading 
the wandering life of a glee-maiden. 


CHAPTER IV. 

It is now time to return to the Master of 
Lisfinry, whom we left so sorely wounded in 
his bed. After the departure of the monk, he 
dozed away into a quiet sleep, but awoke at inter- 
vals during the night; for his wounds were now 

5 


66 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


becoming much more painful than during the time 
elapsing immediately after their infliction. When- 
ever he awoke, he was sensible, by some light 
stir or breathing, of the presence of the young girl 
in the room ; and the feeling that he was tended and 
watched by such a handsome nurse made his hours 
of sleeping and waking sweeter till the morning. 
Then the bright light streamed in, and, awaking fully, 
he looked around ; but the young girl was gone, and 
in her place stood the master of the house, the 
worthy Hugh Walsh himself, with his portly and 
good-natured wife. 

“ Sir knight,” said Hugh, “ after the battle, my 
lord, the Desmond, did me the high honor of di- 
recting that you should be sent to my house, as you 
were too weak to be removed. I trust that you have 
found the humble attendance we were able to give, 
pleasing, and that you will soon be strong, and able 
to do the deeds pertaining to a gallant knight 
again.” 

“ I trust so, too,” said the smiling dame. “ The 
bed, mayhap, is rather hard for the comfort of your 
worship; but it is even softer than Father Gerald 
would allow you, after binding up your wounds.” 

“My worthy host and hostess,” answered the 
knight, “I feel as delectable as man can in such a 
case. As for the pains that trouble me now and 
then, it is not the fault of the bed or of the nursing 
I have got, but of fortune and my wounds. But I 
trust I shall soon be well ; and, as Master of Lisfinry, 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


67 


I shall not forget the kind nursing I am receiving 
under your roof” 

Day after day the Knight of the Red Plume con- 
tinued under the kind nursing of Hugh Walsh and 
his wife, and the lovely Margaret, and at length be- 
came strong enough to arise and move about, with- 
out, however, leaving the precincts of his room. It 
was now nearly a month after the taking of the town ; 
and he was sitting in his room, thinking of some 
preparations, for on the morrow he was to leave his 
kind nurses, and proceed to the Castle of Lisfinry, 
from which the Earl of Desmond had but lately 
departed with his retainers in order to take up his 
abode in another castle. The town of Youghal 
was now in possession of a garrison left there by 
the earl ; and every thing was going on as quietly in 
its streets as though the crash and clamor of war 
had never rung along its fortifications, or echoed in 
its mansions. As the knight sat thus thinking, the 
image of the sweet girl who had nursed him so 
well during his illness continually arose in his mind ; 
and, in spite of himself, a feeling of fondness and 
tenderness (which he would not, but many would, 
call love) began to grow in his heart, as he thought 
of her unremitting and devoted attention to him, — 
in spite of himself ; for how could he, a high-born 
knight, think of loving a girl, who, however beauti- 
ful, was lowly-born, and, according to the precepts 
of those times, unfit to mate with any of his class, 
proud noblemen who looked often down with scorn 


68 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


on those of humbler birth, however wealthy? Still, 
bethought he saw something noble about the young 
Margaret Walsh, in her features, in her bearing, and 
in her actions. In this mood of mind he was, 
when, towards sunset, the oft-recurring subject of 
his thoughts entered the room, and sat down — her 
usual way of keeping him occupied in conversation 
— on a low chair near him. 

“My pretty Margaret,” exclaimed the knight, 
“time, no matter how sweet and delightful, must 
have an end. We part to-morrow; but, though it 
will and must be a long parting, the memory of 
your kindness shall remain with me wherever my 
fate leads me.” 

“Sir James,” said Margaret, looking up into the 
face of the knight with an innocent but concerned 
look, “ the kindness, — if I may call it so, — the kind- 
ness I have shown was but befitting from me, the 
daughter of the Desmond’s most favored servant, 
to a kinsman of the Desmond. But I fear me about 
your going in your present weak state; and there 
are strange rumors in the town, of hostile ships being 
seen sailing along the coast, and of another siege 
of the town by the English forces from Waterford.” 

“Ha!” exclaimed the knight: “they dare not. 
The Desmond is too strong in this territory at pres- 
ent; and it must be some merchant-vessels the idle 
loons in the town have magnified into war-galleys.” 

The night had now fallen upon the town, and Sir 
James of Lisfinry and Margaret were still con vers- 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


69 


« 

ing ; when, all at once, they heard the boom of a 
cannon from the direction of the harbor. This was 
followed by a confused murmur and stir in the 
town : then came the booming of many cannons 
again, and the rattle of musketry ; and no doubt was 
left upon the knight’s mind, that what Margaret had 
told him was too true, — that the English had made 
a descent upon the town, and were determined to 
have.it by storm. The knight had not left his room 
since he first entered it, and was still so weak that 
he found himself unable to descend the stairs unas- 
sisted ; and his mind chafed within him to think that 
he should sit there, an idle listener to the contest, 
and be incapable of rendering any assistance to the 
garrison. Hugh Walsh himself now made his 
appearance, in the greatest perturbation, and said 
that the English had indeed returned under Capt. 
White, one of the most zealous leaders on the side 
of the queen, and had, whether by treachery or 
bravery he could not say, actually entered the town, 
and driven out the garrison. He said that the 
knight’s only chance of safety consisted in his allow- 
ing himself to be removed with all possible speed, 
and concealed in a small apartment he had prepared 
for the purpose. The knight, assisted by Hugh 
Walsh and his brisk young shopman, was soon set- 
tled in his place of concealment, a small room at 
the extreme back of the merchant’s storehouse, and 
from which a diminutive window looked out on 
a narrow street called the Sword-bearer’s Close. 


70 


THE MASTER OF LIS FINE Y, 


Youghal was once more in the possession of the Eng- 
lish. After a few days, however, every thing went 
on quietly, with the exception of a little pillage on 
the part of the conquerors ; but they now kept such 
a sharp watch at the gates and on the walls, that it 
was impossible for the knight to make his escape. 
So he was fain to content himself with his little 
prison, as he called it, and the society occasionally 
of the honest Hugh and his wife, but more fre- 
quently of the young and winning Margaret. 

Day by day the thoughts of the knight dwelt 
more and more continually upon the loveliness and 
engaging manners of the young girl. The voice of 
reason often called back his mind from those day- 
dreams to the plain reality of the case : but the 
knight was young ; and, at his age, the voice of the 
heart is more willingly listened to than the more 
matter-of-fact warnings of reason. So, by slow but 
sweet degrees, he fell in love, and got to think upon 
his beautiful young nurse with other thoughts than 
those with which he regarded her on his first enter- 
ing the little chamber in Hugh’s dwelling. 


CHAPTER Y. 

It was now three weeks after the entrance of the 
English. The Sword-bearer’s Close was the abode 
of a number of the prettiest girls in the town, and, 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


71 


in consequence of this delightful fact, became the 
resort of several of the young soldiers from the gar- 
rison. One day, while the knight and Margaret 
Walsh were conversing in the little room, some dis- 
turbance arose outside in the Close. Margaret was 
taking a hasty look through the little window at 
what was passing, when a young corporal, who was 
in the crowd, turning suddenly round, caught her 
eye, and, thinking himself the sole and undivided 
object of her attention, put on a most amiable and 
engaging look, left the throng, and swaggered, with 
the air of a youthful Alexander, several times up 
and down before the window. Margaret immedi- 
ately drew back, and saw no more of the amorous 
corporal for that day. But the next morning he 
was there again, with his steel cap, back-and-breast, 
and all his other accoutrements burnished up with 
an unwonted degree of care. But this time, not 
contenting himself with a useless perambulation along 
the street, he came over, and gave a glance of his 
enamoured eyes through the little window into the 
chamber of the knight, and was rewarded for his 
devotedness by catching a glimpse of the lovely 
Margaret inside. Fortunately, the knight was sit- 
ting in a corner which was not visible to the gay 
corporal ; but on seeing Margaret cast herself with 
a frightened countenance into the opposite corner, 
and on inquiring the cause of her trepidation, she 
told him of the insinuating face at the window, and 
warned him to be on his guard. The knight, how- 


72 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


ever, in spite of the warning, started up and ap- 
proached the window; but the soldier was gone. 
Early on the same evening, the knight was sitting 
alone in his narrow room, and thinking on his situ- 
ation in a rather unpleasant frame of mind, when 
the coaxing face of the corporal appeared once 
more, peering in at the window. It was an ill- 
starred moment for both ; for the Master of Lisfinry 
rendered irritable and over-hasty by the sickness 
of his wounds, and unable to bear the troublesome 
curiosity of the corporal any longer, seized a small 
iron weight that accidently lay beside him, and, 
flinging it with his utmost force at the forehead 
of the unfortunate gazer, stretched him, bleeding 
and senseless, upon the rough pavement out- 
side. Some of the corporal’s comrades, making 
their appearance at the moment, created a tremen- 
dous disturbance on his account; at which an officer, 
with a guard of soldiers, was ordered down from 
the garrison in order to investigate the matter. The 
result was, that Hugh Walsh’s house and premises 
were searched, and, as a matter of course, half-pil- 
laged, and the knight’s place of concealment found. 
The door was instantly forced in ; but the Knight 
of Lisfinry was not at all disposed to give himself 
peaceably into the hands of his enemies; and so the 
first man that entered received six or eight inches 
of steel beneath his corselet, and fell, mortally 
wounded, beside the doorway. Several now rushed 
in ; but the foremost, after a few cuts and parries, 


THE MASTER OF L1SFINRY. 


73 


got a slash of the knight’s sword, which went sheer 
through the bars of his basnet, or helmet, terribly 
wounding him along the face, and stretching him 
upon the prostrate body of his comrade. The 
knight now retreated to the opposite corner of the 
room, determined to die where he stood, and still 
keeping a clear space around him with the sweep of 
his long sword.' 

“Yield thee, sir knight, or whatever we may 
call thee,” said the officer of the guard, — “ yield thee, 
or we shall cut thee to pieces where thou standest, 
or else set fire to the house, and burn thee to cin- 
ders with the worthless rebel caitiff who concealed 
thee.” 

The latter part of this threat, namely, the burn- 
ing of the premises of Hugh Walsh, with the body 
of the worthy burgess himself, had far more effect 
upon his mind than the first clause ; so, giving up 
his sword to the officer, he was marched out of his 
place of concealment, and lodged quietly in the 
strongest dungeon of the fortress. There he had 
ample leisure to think over the impropriety that 
heroes and heroines, captives, prisoners, and all 
others in similar situations, are guilty of in giving 
way to their passions, whether of rage or sorrow, 
instead of sagely and peaceably mining, counter- 
mining, and plotting their escape; and there we 
shall leave him for a time to ruminate over his 
misfortunes. 

It was in the beginning of autumn. The English 


74 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


had held the town in their possession for somewhat 
more than a month, when once more the fierce 
war-cry of the Irish resounded along the walls ; for 
the Seneschal of Imokilly, with all the warlike in- 
habitants of that and the surrounding districts, ap- 
peared suddenly from the woods, and surrounded 
the fortifications on all sides. This time, no herald 
was sent to summon the garrison to surrender. On 
came the Irish in long lines and thick masses, and, 
filling the deep ditches with their fascines of brush- 
wood, gallantly scaled the ramparts, amidst a storm 
of cannon-balls and small shot. The walls were well 
manned ; but the English, despite their bravery, were 
soon driven off the ramparts of the castle, and from 
that to the seaward gate of the town, where they 
rallied their numbers, and made a last and gallant 
stand. 

It was just at this moment that the Master of 
Lisfinry heard the sound of a couple of heavy battle- 
axes breaking in his prison-door, which feat was 
soon accomplished ; and Hugh Walsh, his shopman, 
and Gerald th.e monk, stood before him. 

“ Sir knight,” said Hugh, “ we are free once 
more ; for the seneschal has made good his oath that 
he would take the town ; and has burst over the 
walls, and driven the English to the sea-gate. Take 
this,” continued Hugh, giving the knight a long, 
heavy sword. “ They rally there under the protec- 
tion of their guns from the harbor, and, I fear me, 
will regain the castle again.” 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY . 


75 


The knight took the sword, and, rushing from 
the castle, put himself at the head of a body of Irish 
who were beginning to refresh themselves after 
the fatigue of battle with a little pillage. “ Lisfinry, 
Lisfinry aboo ! ” yelled his new followers ; for they 
recognized him in a moment. They soon reached 
the sea-gate ; and there the knight indemnified 
himself so well for his long inactivity, that the 
English were in a short time cut to pieces almost to 
a man. 


CHAPTER VI. 

It was evening. The knight accompanied Gerald 
the monk as he went about along the streets and 
ramparts, applying remedies to the wounded, and 
shriving those that were upon the point of death. 
As they crossed down a narrow street, they beheld 
a dying man before them, with his head resting on 
a small tambour, and a broken gittern in fragments 
beside him. 

“ Sir monk/’ said the prostrate man, “ I fear me I 
am about to die. Wilt thou hear what I have to 
say, and shrive me for my misdeeds ? Quick, quick, 
for my moments are numbered,” he continued, as a 
gush of dark blood burst forth from his wounded 
breast. 

The monk bent down and heard his confession, 


76 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


and was about to move away in the direction of 
another group of the wounded and dying, when 
the man, by a sudden effort, raised himself into a 
sitting posture, and desired him to remain. 

“ Take this,” he said, putting a small gold locket 
into the monk’s hand : “ this I found around the 
neck of a young child that I discovered, ten years 
ago, in the forest of Sliabh Gua.” 

“ How ? ” exclaimed the monk greatly agitated, 
his mind reverting in a moment to his lost niece. 
“ How came she in the forest ? and by what name did 
she call herself? ” 

“She called herself Margaret of Barn a,” an- 
swered Jamie Bell ; for it was he. “We brought her 
up, I trust, kindly, as we would our own child. 
My wife died ; and, about two years after, I fell into 
a lingering sickness myself, and was unable to sup- 
port the child any longer. I came to Youghal in 
order to take ship for my own bonnie Lincoln, and 
met a kind merchant standing with his wife at their 
door. I begged them, for the sake of Him who 
died for us all, to keep the little girl till I could come 
back and take her with me to England; and they, 
although they thought she was ray daughter, in the 
kindness of their hearts took her in, and promised 
to give her a home. Hugh Walsh, I mind it well, 
was the 1 kind merchant’s name. I came back for the 
bonnie child; and, woe is me! I shall never see her 
blithe face again.” 

The gleeman was sinking gradually during his 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


77 


story; and, at .the last words, his head fell suddenly 
back upon his beloved tambour, his legs were drawn 
up, and jerked out with a quick spasm ; and the 
monk, bending low to help him in his extremity, 
found that he was dead. 

“ Sir James of Lisfinry,” exclaimed the delighted 
monk, turning to the knight, who, the while, was 
standing at a little distance, “ I can tell thee blithe 
news, — news that, from what I have many times 
noticed during thy illness, thou art far more con- 
cerned in than, perchance, thou wottest. My wan- 
derings are ended. I have found the lost child of 
my poor brother of Barn a ! ” 

“ How,” exclaimed the knight, a wild and delight- 
ful suspicion flitting through his mind, — “how 
hast thou found her? and how am I concerned in 
her discovery, more than befits a knight and a dis- 
tant kinsman?” 

“Margaret, Margaret thy kind and pretty nurse,” 
said the monk, “ is not the adopted daughter of 
the good merchant, Hugh, — she is my niece, the 
young lady of Barna ! ” 

The monk now quickly explained all to the 
knight, and continued, “ Thou lovest her, sir 
knight; and I could see from her bearing towards 
thee that she loves thee, too, well and truly. 
She is an orphan, but the daughter of a brave 
knisrht, and will have her father’s district of Barna. 
Yet me thinks she can nowhere find a braver pro- 
tector or a fonder husband than the young Knight 
of Lisfinry.” 


78 


THE MASTER OF LISFINRY. 


It were long to tell the wise . saws, maxims, and 
gratulations of Hugh Walsh and his portly wife, 
when the monk and knight proceeded to their house, 
and explained all. It may be pathetic and amusing, 
but at the same time it is now needless, to dilate 
upon the love-meeting of Margaret the Orphan of 
Barna with her Knight of the Red Plume, and to 
tell the blithe rejoicings and brave pageants on 
their marriage-day. Suffice it to say that they 
were married by the old monk, and that they loved 
well and lived happily, as, I pray, O sweet reader ! 
thou mayest live, till thou findest blissful rest in 
the common home of all human pilgrims. 




The Fair Maid of Killarney. 


A TALE OF ROSS CASTLE. 


MOKG the almost innumerable objects of in- 



terest that come under the observation of the 


tourist during his sojourn in Killarney and its neigh- 
borhood, there is scarcely one whose examination will 
afford more pleasure than Ross Castle. Too many 
travellers there are, however, who either do not visit 
it at all, or, when they do so, pass it by with a glance, 
thoughtless and cursory. One, for instance, half-be- 
wildered by the countless beauties of our Irish fairy- 
land, will hurry away with a confused remembrance 
floating in his brain, of wild pass, silvery lake, rain- 
bow-tinted island, and sunlit, sky-piercing mountain: 
another, equally alive to the natural beauties of that 
glorious scenery, but with an eye also for objects of 
legendary, antiquarian, and historical interest, will 
return to his home, the object of his tour only half- 
accomplished, for want of proper and reliable infor- 
mation regarding the various points of attraction he 


79 


80 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


has met with during his visit. By far the greater 
number, however, with garrulous and flimsy guide- 
book in hand, flit about from Mucruss to the Devil’s 
Punch Bowl, from the Gap of Dunloe to the Castle 
of Ross, from island to island, and from mountain 
peak to lowland shore ; and carry away with them 
on their departure an incongruous medley of badly- 
told historical facts, hackneyed legends, and newly- 
invented nonsensical stories, all of which, they, of 
course, scatter liberally among their friends, both 
here and at the other side of the water, to the great 
discredit of that famed region which an erratic old 
gentleman of our acquaintance calls in his rapture, 
the “ tourist’s paradise.” With the purpose of sup- 
plying to the tourist a few items of information of a 
less hackneyed character, we give, as a preliminary 
to our story, a short account of the spot in which its 
principal incidents were enacted. 

Ross Castle consisted of a strong keep and other 
stout buildings, both of a domestic and military 
nature, surrounded by the usual bawn wall, with its 
breastworks and circular flanking towers at the 
corners. It is situated upon a peninsula on the 
eastern shore of the lower lake, and commands a 
view on every side of the wildest beauty and sub- 
limity. Right before it, to the west, the lofty Reeks 
of Magillacuddy throw up their savage summits into 
the ever-varying sky ; while to the south and east 
the horizon is broken by the steep, pyramidal crests 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


81 


of the Paps, and the Mangerton range of moun- 
tains. To the north, a number of abrupt and irreg- 
ular summits shut in the view; and the traveller 
who looks from the time-worn battlements of the 
ancient stronghold will see around him a panorama 
of crag and wood, curving shore, fairy island, and 
glittering wave, far surpassing even the pictures of 
his wildest dreams of splendor and beauty. 

The ross, or peninsula, on which the castle is 
built, was converted, if we may so speak, into an 
island, by means of a deep channel cut through the 
marshy neck by which it joined the mainland. 
This channel, or ditch, was filled by the waters of 
the lake, and formed the chief defence of the castle 
on the land side. It was crossed by a drawbridge, 
no traces of which now exist. Regarding the pre- 
cise date of the foundation of the castle, or the 
name of its founder, history is silent. It was prob- 
ably built by some warlike chief of the O’Donoghoe 
sept, in the midst of whose immense territory it 
stands. From the style of its masonry, and other 
characteristics, it does not seem older than the latter 
part of the fourteenth centfiry. About that date, 
and in several parts of Ireland before it, the Irish 
chieftains began to adopt some of the manners of 
their powerful Norman neighbors ; and upon the site 
of their wooden cahirs , or fortresses, built strong 
castles of stone, in which they stood many a gallant 
siege ; and from which, at the head of their follow- 
ers, they often rode forth in wild array, to protect 


82 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


their borders against those mail-clad invaders whose 
trade was war, and whose perpetual law was the 
strong hand, and the might of battle-axe and 
sword. 

During the vengeful wars that then raged through- 
out the length and breadth of Ireland, Ross Castle 
frequently changed owners. From the O’Donoghoe 
More, by one of whose ancestors it seems to have 
been erected, it passed into the hands of Mac Carthy 
More, by whom it was transferred, in the year 1588, 
to Sir Valentine Browne, ancestor of the present 
House of Kenmare. Passing over its various re- 
verses during the latter Desmond wars, we will pro- 
ceed at once to the most remarkable period of its 
history; namely, its surrender to the parliamenta- 
rian forces under Lieut-Gen. Edmond Ludlow, in 
the year 1652. 

After the dismemberment of the Confederation 
of Kilkenny, several of the generals who had fought 
under its banners still held out stoutly for their 
native land, against the Puritans. Among these 
was Donogh Mac Carthy, Lord of Muskerry, chief 
commander, in Munsto, of the Catholic forces. 
After his defeat at the battle of Knockniclashy, in 
the county of Cork, he led fifteen hundred men across 
the mountains, and threw himself into Ross Castle, 
the last stronghold of importance at that time in 
possession of the Irish. Thither he was followed 
by Gen. Ludlow, into whose possession the castle 
fell after a short siege. The manner in which the 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. 


83 


castle yielded to the parliamentarian general will 
be best understood by a perusal of our story. 

At the commencement of the great insurrection 
of 1641, Ross Castle and the surrounding territory 
belonged to Sir Valentine Browne. Sir Valentine 
was at that time a minor, under the guardianship of 
his uncle, who was afterwards slain in one of the 
battles fought during that destructive and protracted 
war. The warden of the castle, towards the termi- 
nation of the war, in 1652, was a distant relation of 
Sir Valentine, named Richard Browne, a captain in 
the confederate army. Capt. Richard Browne had 
an only child, a daughter, named Mabel, who lived 
with him in the castle. Mabel, at the time, was just 
verging into womanhood, and was a lovely girl ; so 
beautiful, indeed, that she was called by the surround- 
ing people, of every degree, “The Fair Maid of Kil- 
larney.” It will not be at all wondered at, therefore, 
that the young officers who commanded under her 
father in the garrison should have been smitten by 
her beauty. Foremost among those who paid her 
homage was a young man named Raymond Villiers, 
a lieutenant of musketeers, and a descendant of a 
stout English settler who had come into that coun- 
try about a century before. 

Raymond Villiers was the possessor of a small 
but good estate, lying upon the shore of the Main, 
a river that empties its waters into Dingle Bay. 
The veteran warden of the castle was well ac- 


84 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. 


quainted with the circumstances of the young lieu- 
tenant of musketeers, and looked favorably upon 
his attentions to Mabel ; but the latter persisted in 
receiving the homage of her suitor with no small 
amount of coldness, the reason of which w T ill be 
understood presently. Thus matters stood between 
the young pair, until the day of the battle of Knock- 
niclashy, in which, as was seen above, the forces of 
Lord Muskerry were defeated by the troops of the 
parliament, under Ludlow. 

The sun of that disastrous day was setting beyond 
the wild mountains of Dingle, as Capt. Browne 
was standing upon the battlements of the castle, 
taking a survey of the warders beneath as they 
walked to and fro, in their monotonous avocation, 
behind the breastworks of the massive bawn wall 
beneath. Lake and island and giant hill lay bathed 
in a flood of golden glory around him. The blue 
smoke from the tall chimneys of the castle curled 
up in airy columns through the calm summer sky, 
and the slumbering quietness of the whole scene 
seemed to exert its soothing influence upon the mind 
of the gray-haired warden ; for, after taking a quick 
survey of the sentinels below, he sat himself upon a 
small brass falconet, or cannon, that commanded 
the drawbridge, and began musing silently for some 
moments. 

“By my faith,” said he at last, “but I wish this 
war was ended, and my daughter married to young 
Raymond Yilliers ! I could then sit down quietly 


THE 'FAIR MAW OF K ILL ARNE Y. 


85 


for the remainder of my days, and turn my thoughts 
to another world, which, alas! I have little time to 
think of in this time of foraying and slaying. 
Rory,” continued he aloud to a wiry little sunburnt 
boy who usually attended him on his rounds, “go 
and tell Mistress Mabel that I am here, and that I 
want to speak to her for a few moments.” 

Rory disappeared in an instant down the winding 
stairway ; and, after a little time, Mabel Browne 
made her appearance on the flat space on the sum- 
mit of the castle, and sat down beside her father. 

“Mabel,” said the latter, looking affectionately 
upon his daughter, “ I have been thinking that this 
wooing of Raymond Villiers has gone far enough, 
and that you ought to give him a favorable answer.” 

Now it must be premised that Mabel, only child 
as she was, took some liberties on that account, and 
usually contrived to have her own way in the end, 
no matter how her father threatened and stormed. 
Whenever she saw his brows darkening, she usually 
succeeded, by dint of alternate crying and coaxing, 
in brightening them again ; but, on the present oc- 
casion, she knew, by the fixed look of determination 
in her father’s face, that he was at last bent on 
carrying his point. 

“ I cannot tell, father,” she answered, “ why it is 
that you are so eager to get rid of me in these 
troublous times. As for myself, I would rather stay 
with you to the end of my days ; and you know, 
also, very well, that you cannot do without me. 


86 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


Think,” continued she, with a smile of mingled 
reproach and fondness upon her lovely face, “ only 
think of the time, two years ago, when you sent me 
to spend the summer with my aunt in Tralee, how 
you fretted and neglected yourself during my 
absence, and how, at last, you had to send for me, 
and could not bear me away ever since.” 

“No matter,” answered her father. “Times are 
changing now, Mabel. I am growing old and 
infirm, and there is no knowing the day that I may 
fall in battle, or die of this cough that is now con- 
tinually troubling me ; ” and he pointed to his stout 
chest, which, if the truth must be told, showed but 
small signs of the ravages of the complaint to which 
he alluded. “ If it should come to that,” continued 
he, “ whom will you have to protect you during the 
troubles ? ” And he looked into his daughter’s face 
knowingly, as if he defied her to get over the stum- 
bling-block he had propounded. 

“ Oh ! as for that, father,” answered Mabel, “ I 
trust in God there is but little fear of it, seeing that 
you are still the strongest man in the garrison. Re- 
member that I saw you myself last week, leaping 
your horse over the Wolf’s Hollow, a feat that does 
not show very much weakness or infirmity;” and 
she gave the gratified old soldier another of her fond, 
roguish smiles. 

“ I tell you, Mabel,” rejoined he, trying to look 
so ( ur in spite of himself, “ no matter how afihirs go 
with me, it has come to this, that I have set my 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. 


87 


heart upon your marrying Raymond Villiers ; and 
marry him you shall, for he is in every way worthy 
of you.” 

“ I am sure he is,” returned Mabel, “ and deserving 
of a far better wife than I would make him ; but ” — 

“But what?” interrupted her father. “That’s 
the way you are always putting me off. I hope, 
Mabel,” he continued in a yet more energetic tone, 
“ that you are not still thinking of that wild spend- 
thrift, Donogh of Glenmourne.” 

A bright blush overspread the features of Mabel 
Browne at the sound of that name. She looked 
upon her father reproachfully, her eyes all the while 
gradually filling with tears. 

“ If I am, father,” she said mournfully, “ I cannot 
help it now and then. You know there was once a 
time when you did not forbid me to do so. How- 
ever,” she continued with a sigh, “I will try to for- 
get him since you wish it ; but I cannot, I cannot 
give my heart to Raymond Villers, because” — 

“Because he is not worthy of it, I suppose 
you will say,” said her father somewhat bitterly. 
“But know, Mabel, that Donogh Mac Carthy of 
Glenmourne is now landless, and has nought save 
his sword to depend on; and, by our lady, but 
that’s but a weak prop to depend on in these dan- 
gerous times ! ” 

“ I know it,” returned Mabel, her eyes brighten- 
ing as she thought of her absent lover. “ I know 
that he was robbed of his estate by Cromwell ; but 
that is no reason why I should play him false.” 


88 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


“I knew that was the answer you would make” 
said her father; “but, notwithstanding, you must 
wed, and that soon, with Raymond Yilliers. Ha ! 
what is that I see? Look, Mabel, look! I trust 
in God, whoever it is, that he brings us good news ! ” 
And he pointed towards a slope at the eastern side 
of the castle, down which a horseman was riding 
towards them in furious haste. 

“There must have been a battle fought!” ex- 
claimed Mabel, looking eagerly upon the approach- 
ing courier, as he still rode on, his helmet and trap- 
pings glittering in the red beams of the setting sun. 
“See! he is facing directly for the drawbridge. 
My God! it is he, it is he!” And again the red 
blood mounted to her cheeks, and the tears sparkled 
in her eyes, as she became conscious of exhibiting 
such unusual emotion before her father. 

“Who is it?” asked the latter eagerly. “Your 
eyes are sharper than mine, Mabel; and I do not 
know him yet.” 

“ It is Donogh of Glenmourne ! ” exclaimed Ma- 
bel, scarcely able to restrain herself from darting 
down the stair to welcome the coming of the 
young horseman. 

“I know him now,” said her father. “Look at 
his horse all covered with foam and mire ! Look at 
his plume shorn off, and the sad plight he is in! 
He is the bearer of bad news. ? ’ And with that the 
old veteran left his seat upon the cannon, and 
hurried down the stair, followed by his daughter. 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


With a hasty step, he strode to the drawbridge, 
which, by his orders, was immediately let down to 
give ingress to Donogh of Glenmourne, who, in a few 
moments afterwards, rode inwards , and dismounted 
in the courtyard; where he was soon surrounded by 
an eager throng, all burning to hear the news with 
which he was sent thither. The tidings he brought 
were sorrowful enough ; and shouts of anger, and 
execrations deep and fierce, were muttered by his 
hearers, as he told them, how, that morning, Lord 
Muskerry was vanquished in the battle of Knock- 
niclashy. After giving this disagreeable bit of in- 
formation with a soldier’s brevity, he followed the 
warden of the castle to a private room in order to 
deliver some further instructions with which he had 
been charged by his general after the battle.’ 

Donogh of Glenmourne was as good a specimen 
of the young Irish officer of the time as could well 
be seen. He was about twenty-five years of age, 
strikingly handsome, tall of stature, and had that 
bold, frank bearing that so well became his degree, 
which was that of a captain of cavalry. To the 
owner of a pair of bright eyes that watched him 
eagerly from a little window overhead, he now ap- 
peared doubly interesting as he walked forth once 
more in his battle-soiled armor, and joined a little 
knot of officers who were. conversing in the court- 
yard. For a few moments only, Mabel regarded 
him, and then hastened down to her father to hear 
the tidings. 


90 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


“I fear, Mabel,” said her father, “ that you will 
have but a sorry time of it henceforth. Lord Mus- 
kerry is now marching with the remnant of his 
forces across the mountains, and will be here early 
to-morrow. He will, of course, be followed by 
Gen. Ludlow : so I think you had better get ready 
and go to your aunt at once ; for we are about to 
stand a siege.” 

“ I cannot leave you, father,” said Mabel ; “ so do 
not send me away. Whatever happens, I would 
rather stay with you ; and, besides, you know that I 
am safer here than I should be in Tralee.” 

“Perhaps it may be so,” returned her father; 
“but we will think it over. In the mean time, I 
must go and give directions to have the castle ready 
for Lord Muskerry and the somewhat large force he 
is bringing with him.” And he walked out, and 
speedily called the garrison to arms. The noise of 
preparation soon rang from end to end of the 
huge fortress. At last, night settled down upon hill 
and lake and tower; and all became still, save the 
tread of the wary sentinels as they paced to and 
fro along the ramparts. 

About the noon of the following day, Lord Mus- 
kerry arrived with his forces and a great prey of 
cattle, which they had taken during their retreat 
from the bloody field of Knockniclashy. The ram- 
parts of Ross Castle were now crowded with men ; 
and all was busy preparation for the expected siege. 
The outworks at the land side were strengthened, 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. 


91 


additional provisions were gathered hastily but 
abundantly in from the surrounding country, guns 
were placed commanding every available approach ; 
and at length the castle seemed capable of holding 
out stoutly against the well-appointed forces of the 
enemy. Some of the broken Irish regiments were 
also encamped in the surrounding woods ; so that 
Gen. Ludlow, when he invested the castle with an 
army of about six thousand men, had a game to 
play as difficult as it was dangerous. In such a 
state of affairs, the siege went on slowly, scarcely 
a cannon having been fired on either side for 
several days after the arrival of the parliamenta- 
rian army. Outside the castle, however, continual 
skirmishing was going on between the enemy and 
the Irish troops, who occupied several advantageous 
positions amongst the woods and hills. 

Matters were in that condition, when one even- 
ing Mabel stole up to the battlements of the castle 
in order to obtain a view of the hostile camp. Plain- 
ly enough it lay, almost beneath her, towards the 
east; the arms of its occupants all flashing and glit- 
tering in the sun, and the painted banners flaunting 
proudly in the evening breeze. As she stood gazing 
with curious eye upon that martial scene, she heard 
a light step behind her, and, turning round, beheld 
Raymond Villiers approaching from the stairway, 
with a somewhat troubled look upon his dark and 
handsome features. He sat himself upon the battle- 
ment beside her, and for some time neither spoke. 


92 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILLAIiNEY . 


His troubled and somewhat diffident manner might 
be easily accounted for by the fact that he had then 
and there determined to try his last chance of get- 
ting a favorable answer from Mabel. The single 
warden who watched from the summit of the castle 
was standing upon a small pinnet, or tower, at the 
opposite side, and could not hear their conversation, 
which at last Raymond Villiers wound up his courage 
to begin. 

“ I have sought you, Mabel,” he said, “ for many 
reasons. This siege must soon be ended ; for I am 
sure the fortress cannot hold out against yonder 
splendid and brave army, and then there will be 
many changes. You will see, then, why I am anxious 
to understand your sentiments towards me.” 

“ I pray you,” returned Mabel, with a cold smile, 
“ to explain to me, Master Villiers, why the castle 
cannot hold out. Surely, Lord Muskerry is strong 
enough to hold his own here at least, where he has 
a deep lake, a goodly trench, and a brave castle 
crowded with men to back him.” 

“That may be,” said Villiers. “But there seems 
to be some curse upon- our cause. Every thing goes 
badly with us ; and why should this castle hold out 
when stronger ones have fallen ?” 

“This is language that ill befits a soldier,” an- 
swered Mabel, smiling contemptuously. “You, Mas- 
ter Villiers, were wont to boast loudly enough 
whilst the enemy was far off. Row that he is near 
us, it seems strange that you cannot keep your 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


93 


heart up like a brave man in the emergency. Do 
not expose yourself too much, I pray you,” she 
added, with another smile of contempt. “ Keep in 
shelter of that battlement beside you, else yonder 
gun that the enemy seems arranging in the battery 
on the height may pick you off ere the siege is well 
begun.” 

Nothing is so maddening to a lover as a word or 
smile of contempt from the woman he loves. The 
temper of Raymond Villiers was hot and violent; 
and Mabel’s tone and look enraged him beyond 
measure, though he strove to hide his anger. 

“ I did not come to discuss military tactics,” he 
said, with a forced smile. “ I am here, Mabel, to 
decide my fate with regard to you ; and thus I ask 
you, for the last time, will you become my wife 
when this siege is over ? ” 

“ Nay,” returned Mabel, “ it would be indelicate • 
of me to consent so hastily, seeing that the siege, as 
you say, is to come to so speedy a termination. 
So,” she continued in the same ironical tone, “I 
cannot grant your request.” 

“ I have dallied long enough,” muttered Villiers, 
a frown in spite of himself darkening his features. 
“This is to be my final answer, then,” added he, 
turning to Mabel: “ I am to understand, that in 
spite of my devotion, and in spite of all your father’s 
commands, you will not consent to be my wife ? ” 

“No,” returned Mabel, firmly; “for my father will 
never force me to it.” 


94 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


“ You will not, then ? ” 

“No. And now, Raymond Yilliers, let us put an 
end to this forever. You know I cannot be your 
wife, and you know also the reason of it.” 

“Yes,” exclaimed Yilliers bitterly, “I know it. 
He is here, and you love him. But we will see 
to it, — by the breath of my body but we will see to 
it ! ” And he stood up, and, bowing coldly to Mabel, 
took his way down the stairway with a black and 
revengeful frown upon his swarthy brows. 

Mabel Browne, with the sharpness of a woman, 
noticed the look, and partly guessed its meaning. 
Coupling it with his demeanor for a long time 
previous, from which she judged that he would 
think little of changing sides in the war, she de- 
termined, for her own sake, and for the sake of the 
castle of which her father was warden, to watch his 
motions narrowly for the future. But for several 
days afterwards, during which the siege began to 
grow somewhat hotter, she saw nothing in the con- 
duct of Raymond Yilliers to confirm the secret 
suspicions she had formed of his fidelity to the Irish 
cause. 

A week had now passed away. It was midnight. 
Beneath the black gloom that shrouded lake and 
castle and giant mountain, a tali figure, muffled in 
a long military cloak, glided along the rampart 
towards a sentinel who stood beside the western 
turret, facing the water. The sentinel turned, and 
demanded the watchword for the night. It was 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


95 


given; and the tall figure moved down to the 
water’s edge, and, stepping cautiously into one of 
the three small boats that were moored beneath the 
shadow of the tower, took the oars, and shoved it 
silently out into the lake. By and by another muf- 
fled figure, evading the observation of the sentinel 
in the darkness, stole silently beneath the rampart, 
and, stepping into one of the remaining boats, put 
it off in a similar manner. The first boat glided 
noiselessly across the lake, and, at last, landed its 
occupant upon the shore, above which was situated 
the camp of the parliamentarians. The second, 
also, followed stealthily in its wake ; but, stopping 
some distance from the shore, turned back again, 
after a short time, towards the castle. As it glided 
in beneath the shadow of the western tower, the 
figure which it bore left it, and soon gained the 
courtyard unobserved. It then glided up a stairway 
of the castle ; and, entering a little chamber, the 
long cloak that muffled it was cast upon the floor, 
and the lovely face of the Fair Maid of Killarney 
was revealed in the light of a small taper that was 
burning upon a table near the fireplace. 

“ Whoever he is,” she said, as she sat herself 
beside the table, “ he is a traitor. But I will wait 
and watch ; and assuredly I will find him, or my 
name is not Mabel Browne.” 

Meanwhile let us follow Raymond Yilliers ; for 
he it was that had gone upon his dark midnight 
mission across the lake. After narrowly escaping 


96 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


being shot by the advanced sentinel of the enemy, 
he contrived to make his purpose known, and was 
soon conducted into the presence of Gen. Ludlow. 

“ What dost thou want ? ” said the stern Puritan 
general, in a surly tone at being awaked from his 
first slumbers. “ Why didst thou not come in the 
light of day with thine errand, whatever it is ? ” 
“For the best reason in the world, general,” 
answered Villiers. “ If any of my own people saw 
me, my life would not be worth a silver crown. I 
come from the fortress yonder.” 

“Ha!” exclaimed Ludlow, “I begin to under- 
stand thee now. What of the castle? and hast 
thou any method by which we can take it speed- 
ily?” 

“You will never take it by your present tactics,” 
answered Yilliers ; “for the garrison is well manned, 
and they have abundance of provisions, besides the 
natural strength of the place. I am a lieutenant of 
musketeers. If I succeed in gaining you a passage 
across the drawbridge, or point out another method 
by which you can take the castle, will you give me 
the same rank in your army ? ” 

“Gladly, gladly!” answered Ludlow, who knew 
but too well the strength of the garrison. “ And 
now, in case thou canst not betray the drawbridge 
to us, — obtain passage over it for us, I mean, — 
what is thine other method ? ” 

“ There is a prophecy regarding Ross Castle,” 
answered Yilliers, “ which the majority of those 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


97 


who now defend the castle believe in with their 
hearts and souls; and, when they see this accom- 
plished, I will stake my life they will yield the 
castle to you on the easiest terms. It is this, — that 
Ross Castle can never be taken till the enemy sail 
in a fleet of ships upon the lake. Can you not 
accomplish the prophecy?” 

“ I think so,” answered the Puritan general, after 
a long pause, during which he sat thinking intently. 
“Ho, there!” continued he to the grim orderly, 
who stood guard at the door of his tent : “ summon 
hither Scout-master-general Jones, and say that I 
want to consult with him on a most important 
matter.” 

In a short time, the scout-master-general made 
his appearance; and there followed a long consulta- 
tion, at the end of which Raymond Villiers took his 
departure, and succeeded in reaching his quarters in 
Ross Castle unobserved. The result of Ludlow’s 
consultation was, that, in case Yilliers failed in 
otherwise betraying the castle, Scout-master-gene- 
ral Jones undertook to procure and transport from 
Kinsale to Castlemain Bay, and thence overland to 
the parliamentarian camp, the materials, ready 
made, of a fleet of heavy gunboats, with which 
they could attack the castle from the lake. 

Two days passed away, during which Villiers 
found that there was but small chance of betraying 
the drawbridge of the castle to the enemy. He 
therefore finally resolved to leave the place, and go 
7 


98 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


over as secretly as he could to the hostile camp. It 
was thus, that, about midnight, he contrived to pro- 
cure a boat as before, and make his way across the 
lake. This time, however, Mabel Browne, who con- 
stantly watched his motions, and who now sat 
concealed beneath the dark shade of the wall, knew 
his features as he glided past, and followed him, as 
she did the other night, over the water. As he 
stepped upon the land, an unlucky splash of Mabel’s 
oar caught his ear. He stood, and, peering outward 
through the darkness that overhung the water, 
caught sight of the boat and the figure that sat 
therein, which he, of course, thought was that of a 
man. A fierce frown of vengeance contracted his 
dark brow ; and, drawing a long pistol from his belt, 
he fired at the indistinct figure. The next moment, 
a wild shriek of agony and terror rang over the 
dark lake ; and Mabel Browne, with her arm broken 
between the elbow and shoulder, dropped like a 
wounded bird into the bottom of the boat. For- 
tunately, a smart breeze was blowing at the time 
from the eastward, and floated the boat towards the 
opposite shore of the lake, else the poor wounded 
Maid of Ross would have fallen into the ruthless 
hands of the parliamentarian soldiers. 

The report of the pistol, and the wild shriek of 
Mabel, were followed by loud confusion in castle and 
hostile camp. Each side thought that the pistol- 
shot was a signal for an attack of some kind. Men 
hurried to and fro by rampart and trench. The 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. 


99 


cannon on both sides opened fire fora short interval; 
but at length all settled down quietly again, and the 
night passed away. Little did they know that 
night, in the Castle of Ross, of the terrible agony 
their warden’s daughter endured beside the solitary 
shore of the lake, to which the boat was driven by 
the breeze. 

The dawn was faintly tinging the eastern sky, when 
the Fair Maid of Ross awoke from one of the long 
swoons into which she had fallen since she had re- 
ceived the treacherous shot of Raymond Villiers. 
There was now light enough, but she had scarcely 
sense left to look around her. Her arm was lying 
helplessly by her side ; her dress and the bottom of 
the boat were all stained with blood ; and, as she 
endeavored to move herself so as to get a view of 
where she was, a sharp pang shot through the 
wounded limb, and, with a faint scream of anguish, 
she dropped back again into her former position in 
the boat. Then the precipitous, forest-girded shore 
above her seemed to whirl in a weird and terrible 
dance before her eyes ; and another swoon relieved 
her for a time from the torture of her wound. 

When she next awoke to consciousness, it was 
with a cooling and somewhat pleasant sensation. 
She opened her eyes; and the first object they fell 
upon was the welcome and pitying face of Donogh 
of Glenmourne. He was standing over her in the 
little *boat, washing the blood from her neck and 
arm, and sprinkling the cool water gently over her 


100 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


face. All was soon explained. Donogh, who com- 
manded a party of horse amid the woods, was re- 
turning from a reconnoitring excursion by the shore, 
and thus found her whom he little expected to see 
in such a woful state that breezeless summer morn- 
ing. When she told him, as well as her weakness 
would permit her, of the treachery of Raymond 
Villiers, and how it was from his murderous shot 
she had received her wound, Donogh swore a stern 
oath, that, ere many days should elapse, he would 
avenge the deed surely and suddenly upon the head 
of his perjured rival. Before another hour was 
over, Mabel Browne, to the surprise and consterna- 
tion of her stout old father, was lying in her little 
chamber in Ross Castle, awaiting the coming of 
the surgeon who attended Lord Muskerry’s army. 
Under the care of that scientific worthy, her frac- 
tured arm was bound up ; and, in a few days, the 
fever that followed her mishap passed away, and she 
was pronounced out of danger. 

Meanwhile the siege went on. The parliamenta- 
rian general pushed his approaches nearer and nearer 
to the castle ; and the cannon and small arms on 
both sides rattled away most industriously every 
day from morning until night. About ten or a 
dozen days after the occurrence of the foregoing 
events, two horsemen might have been seen riding 
in wild haste over the mountains, and approaching 
the north-western shore of the lake. It was Dpnogh 
of Glenmourne and one of the dragoons belonging 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILL ARNE Y. 


101 


to his troop. Leaving his horse to the care of his 
orderly, Donogh descended into a secret nook by 
the water’s side, and was soon rowing a little boat 
he had taken therefrom, across the lake to the Castle 
of Ross. The news he brought was, that Scout- 
master-general Jones, with a skilful engineer named 
Chudleigh, had just landed in Castlemain Bay with 
a vast quantity of timber ready hewn for large boats, 
and was now on his way across the country to the 
camp, escorted by a strong convoy of the parlia- 
mentarians, horse and foot. After giving this news, 
he again crossed the lake, and soon joined his 
troop, with which he hovered upon the track of 
the approaching convoy. As the latter passed 
through a narrow defile, he fell upon it, sword in 
hand, with his men, and had a sharp skirmish. He 
was, however, finally repulsed, but not till he had 
the satisfaction of knocking Raymond Villiers on 
the head with his own hand, and thus ending the 
new career that gentleman of an easy conscience 
intended running under favor of the parliament. 

The convoy arrived safely at Ludlow’s camp; and 
the boats, under the superintendence of Chudleigh 
of Kinsale, were soon put together and fit to be 
launched. One fine morning, when the garrison of 
Ross awoke, they were not a little astonished to see 
a fleet of ships, or, in other words, large gunboats, 
floating upon the lake, with cannon ready pointed 
at their bows, and colors flying jauntily overhead. 
All cried, with one voice, that the fatal prophecy 


102 


THE FAIR MAID OF KILLARNEY. 


was fulfilled, and that the castle could hold out no 
longer. Lord Muskerry, seeing the despondent 
spirit that pervaded his little army, demanded a 
parley with his enemy. The end of it was, that, 
after a long debate, a capitulation was drawn up ; 
and Lord Muskerry yielded the Castle of Ross, on 
very honorable terms, however, to the parliamenta- 
rian general. This put an end to that terrible war 
which had devastated the country for so many 
years. 

Immediately afterwards, Donogh Mac Carthy rode 
over the mountains with a score of his bold horse- 
men, and dispossessed the Puritan undertaker who 
held his House of Glenmourne. The Puritan, per- 
haps, seeing plenty of estates, far larger and richer, 
going almost for nothing around him, prudently 
made no noise about the affiir; and thus our young 
captain of cavalry entered once more into possession 
of his home, in which he and his descendants were 
confirmed after the restoration. Some months after 
the yielding of the castle, Donogh of Glenmourne 
was made doubly happy by his marriage with the 
Fair Maid of Killarney ; and with the light-hearted 
pair, it is said that the stout old warden, Capt. 
Richard Browne, lived afterwards, for the rest of 
his days, a life of jovial ease and contentment. 




An Eye for an Eye. 


D O you think she will love me less, Tibbot ? ” 

“ Well,” answered Tibbot, leaning back in his 
seat beside the bed, whereon his young companion- 
in-arms, Walter de Berminghame, lay pale and ill 
from the wounds he had got in a recent tourney, 
— “ well, that depends much, I think, on the way 
she lias loved you heretofore. If Maude le Poer be 
the girl you have often pictured her to me, she will 
be true ; but then, if she be like those light-hearted 
dames we met at the last revel in Dublin Castle, 
I fear for you, Wattie.” 

“ She is light-hearted enough, truly,” said Wattie, 
raising himself uneasily, and looking sadly upon his 
companion, with one eye (he had lost the other in 
the tourney) ; “but then she has always been leal 
and good, and will not forsake me for this sad acci T 
dent, — if accident I may call it; for all know that 
it was done falsely and treacherously by my antag- 
onist.” 

“ It surely was,” answered his companion ; M for I 

103 


104 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


saw the deed done myself, and can speak fairly on 
the matter.” 

“Yes!” resumed the other darkly, falling back 
upon his couch as a twitch of pain shot across his 
still feverish brow. “ Ah, Tibbot ! it was an unman- 
ly blow, to strike me when I was unhorsed and 
helpless on the tourney-ground. But, by the good 
faith of my body, John de Lacy shall pay dearly for 
it when we next come face to face ! ” 

“ That,” said Tibbot Burke, “ may occur soon 
enough, if you are well in time to join the march of 
my Lord de Berminghame and his army northward. . 
The De Lacys have all joined the standard of 
Edward Bruce ; and there will soon be a battle. 
Stir up your heart, man, and get well once more ; 
and, when we^stand side by side in the onset, the 
best De Lacy of them that comes in front of our 
spears we will make pay for the unknightly blow.” 

“I care not to meet any one but him,” resumed 
Wattie. “From him I have sworn to take what he 
has taken from me, whenever we meet, be it in 
peaceful hall or on field of battle. But it is hard 
for me to get well with this trouble on my mind 
about Maude le Poer. I have not seen her since 
that luckless tourney-day; but, when I do, I fear 
me that the loss of this poor eye of mine will make 
a sad difference in her favors. And yet we are be- 
trothed, Tibbot. Surely, she .cannot break her vows. 
And yet,” continued he, with a sigh, “ I have known 
others to break them for a far slighter cause.” 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


105 


“ Think not upon it,” said Tibbot Burke cheer- 
fully. “ Why, man, if a poor fellow depended on 
his mere good looks now-a-days for getting a wife, 
he would have but little chance of matrimony. 
Your Maude will stick to you while you have the 
money, even had you lost both your eyes.” 

“I hope so,” said Wattie, in a more cheerful tone. 
“ And now, Tibbot, I will pluck up my heart ; and 
who knows but I may be well enough to undertake 
a journey in a few days? An I be, my first care 
will be ‘boot and saddle,’ and off to Dublin to see 
Maude.” • 

“ Good ! ” answered Tibbot Burke : “ and I will ac- 
company you ; for I see no use in loitering here any 
longer, when the whole community is up in arms to 
repel the Bruce. We can then go both together 
into the coming battle, where you may meet 
De Lacy, and repay him for the blow that has 
cost you so much.” 

A week after, and the two young squires were 
riding across the Pale, attended by a stout clump 
of spears, and bound for Dublin, where the army of 
Lord De Berminghame lay, before commencing its 
march to the north to meet Edward Bruce, brother 
to the renowned Robert Bruce, King of Scotland. 
Edward Bruce at this time, proclaiming himself 
King of Ireland, was supported by several native 
princes, together with many of the most powerful 
Anglo-Irish lords. 

It was a bright autumn evening as W attie de Ber? 


106 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


minghame and Tibbot Burke, at the head of their 
spearmen, approached the western gate of Dublin. 
The two young squires were what was called broth- 
ers-in-arms ; that is, a mutual friendship was sworn 
between them : and each, by his vow, was bound to 
defend and aid the other in all straits and misfor- 
tunes, with his worldly gear, with his sword, and 
with his very life, in cases of extremity. 

As they rode onward by the Liffey shore towards 
the ancient city, they beheld the whole sloping 
plain, from the river to where Phibsborough now 
stands, covered with tents, amidst which many a 
bright spear-point glittered in the rosy light of the 
descending sun, and many a gay banner fluttered 
that bore the arms and cognizances of the stout 
lords and barons of the Pale, who were then gath- 
ered with their strongest muster, waiting for Lord 
de Berminghame to lead them forth to battle. 

“Lead the men forward, and procure them a place 
to camp for the night,” said W attie. “ Meanwhile, 
I will push on for the city, ere the gates are closed.” 

With these words, he rode down the busy streets 
of the city, his mind in a strange tumult at the 
thought of meeting so soon with the lovely Maude 
3e Poer, who was one of the handsomest and richest 
dames of the Pale. At length he halted before a 
huge stone mansion; and there, giving his horse 
into the care of his gilly, or attendant, he entered 
beneath the massive porch, and was soon in the 
presence of his lady-love. 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


107 


“How did she greet you, Wattie?” asked 
Tibbot Burke, as his companion joined him after 
next morning’s reveillee. 

“I’ faith, agreeably enough,” answered De Ber- 
minghame : “ pleasanter than I thought, notwith- 
standing my disfigurement.” 

“ Tush ! ” said Tibbot. “ Call it no disfigurement, 
man. I warrant me that your other eye will be 
sharp enough to pick out your foe from the Bruce’s 
ranks during the battle, which, they have told me, 
is sure to take place.” 

“ Doubtless but it will,” returned his companion ; 
“ for I think, an I were stricken blind altogether, I 
could still pick him out amongst a thousand, for 
two reasons.” 

“Methought,” said Tibbot, “that you had but 
one reason for encountering De Lacy ; namely, to 
avenge yourself for the loss of your eye.” 

“ An eye for an eye I surely will have,” answered 
De Berminghame. “ But I now have another rea- 
son for trying a mortal tilt with De Lacy; and 
that is Maude le Poer’s command.” 

“Good!” said Tibbot Burke, in high admiration 
of the warlike parting- word of Maude. “ May 
Heaven send me a high-spirited wife like that! But, 
ha! there sound the clarions, warning us to pre- 
pare for march. You will soon have an opportu- 
nity of executing the command of your lady-love.” 

In the centre of the camp was a large pavilion, 
in front of which stood the great standard of Lord 


108 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE 


John de Berminghame, general of the Anglo-Irish 
army. Before this standard, the general, in full 
armor, was seated upon his horse, his principal 
knights and barons around him, giving the various 
orders for the march. The tents were soon struck, 
and the followers of the different leaders arranged 
in stern array behind their various ensigns. It was 
a splendid scene. The fresh morning sun glittered 
on numerous spear-points, and flashed incessantly 
from polished corselets and plumed helmet ; and the 
early breeze, as it blew up the plain, wafted upon 
its wings the farewell cheer of the thousands who 
thronged the strong ramparts and battlements of 
Dublin, as the army, after extending itself into one 
long line, with a last wild burst of pipes and clarions, 
took its way northward to the battle-field, whence 
many of those who filled its numbers were fated 
never to return. 

Wattie Berminghame and his brother-in -arms, 
with the spearmen they led, marched on with the 
centre body, which was commanded by the general 
in person. 

“ As for me,” said Tibbot, “ I expect my spurs at 
last; for I am sure it will be a gallant fight.” 

“And I also,” returned his companion. “I will 
either win my spurs, or die.” 

It was a calm, sultry noon when the two hostile 
armies came in sight of each other at a place called 
Faughard, near Dundalk. The Scots were inferior 
to the Irish in point of numbers ; but then they 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


109 


were led by experienced and renowned generals, 
and expected a complete victory in the contest, 
which soon commenced. Lord de Berminghame, 
who was also a brave and practised general, had 
taken up an advantageous position at the foot of 
Faughard Hill ; and, when the first line of the Scots 
rushed obliquely upward to attack him, his heavy- 
armed knights and spearmen drove them back with 
considerable loss into the hollows. By a simulta- 
neous movement on the part of the two leaders, 
both the armies, wings and centres, at last came 
together with a terrible shock, and mingled in the 
confusion of a general battle. 

As young De Berminghame and his friend passed 
out to the front in order to seek some opportunity 
for distinguishing themselves, they beheld an Anglo- 
Irish knight named John de Maupas, several spear- 
lengths before them, riding in full tilt against 
Edward Bruce, who, according to his wont, fought 
in the van of his army. Bruce and some of his 
knights were at the moment engaged in a hand-to- 
hand encounter with the Irish general and a few 
of his principal leaders, when De Maupas, coming 
up, struck his spear through the neck of the Scot- 
tish prince, and bore him to the ground, where he 
was trampled to death by the raging horses. Alan, 
Lord Steward, who was by the side of the Bruce, 
whirled round his huge two-handed sword, and, 
with one blow, slew De Maupas, who fell over the 
body of him he had so lately overthrown. 


110 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


“Look, look!” exclaimed Wattie Berminghame 
eagerly, as the combatants now swayed to and fro, 
and grappled with one another, man to man. “ See, 
Tibbot ! There goes the De Lacy’s banner beneath 
in yon boggy hollow. Follow me ; for I must find 
him ! ” And with that he spurred downward, and 
was just in time, with his friend, to join in an attack 
which the Anglo-Irish were making on foot, upon the 
left wing of the Scots in the swampy hollow. And 
now his heart bounded with a fierce delight, as, soon 
after dismounting, he was brought in the rushing 
attack almost face to face with his hated foe, young 
De Lacy, kinsman to the earl of that name, who 
was that day fighting on the part of Edward Bruce. 
About three paces in front of him stood Tibbot 
Burke, engaged in a deadly struggle with a gigan- 
tic Scottish knight, who seemed to be the comrade 
of young De Lacy. Poor Tibbot went down with 
a loud clang, mortally wounded before the Scotsman, 
who, in turn, was brought to his knee, and slain by 
the heavy sword of De Berminghame, as the latter 
bestrode the body of his brother-in-arms. 

“Yield thee, thou blind dog!” shouted young 
De Lacy tauntingly, as Wattie now turned to him. 

The answer was a heavy blow upon the shoulder, 
and then a thrust in the eye from De Berming- 
hame’s long sword. The weapon went right through 
the brain of De Lacy, who fell dead almost without 
a groan. 

“ An eye for an eye ! ” shouted De Berminghame ; 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


Ill 


“and now God and my lady-love assist me in earn- 
ing my spurs ! ” 

He dashed quickly into the thickest of the enemy, 
and performed such deeds of valor, that, ere night, 
when the Scots were completely routed, he was 
knighted by his kinsman, Lord de Berminghame, in 
the presence of the assembled leaders of the army, 
amongst whom was the father of Maude le Poer. 
To the latter he was married some time after ; and 
the only regret he felt on the bridal-day was, that 
his faithful brother-in-arms, the gallant but luckless 
Tibbot Burke, was not alive to be a witness of his 
happiness. 




W HATEVER side we turn to around the city 
of Dublin, we are sure to meet mementoes 
that carry our thoughts back to those turbulent days 
when lance and sword usually settled questions 
which are now adjudicated without disturbance, 
save an occasional battle of tongues, in our peaceful 
courts of law. Many of those ancient fortresses, 
which, like a crescent chain of watchful sentinels, 
towered beyond the city for the protection of the 
Pale, still remain, and raise their hoary heads over 
valley and river shore, adown which, in bright array, 
plumed nobles, and steel-clad knights, and men-at- 
arms rode gallantly forth to battle, where the 
weary creaght lowed, after the foray in which they 
had been driven from some far-off fastness of Imayle, 
Leix, or Ossory ; and where the minstrel, half-Irish 
and half-Norman, once twanged his gittern as he 
went from castle to castle, relating in rousing and 
voluble stanzas the deeds of the knights of St. 
112 


THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. 


113 


George.* Among the most remarkable and inter- 
esting of these ancient structures is the Castle of 
Drimnagh, the subject of many a legendary tale. 
Could the bearded old warriors who once thronged 
its halls awake, they would witness many a won- 
derful change since the half-forgotten days when 
they lived and loved, revelled and fought, conquered 
or sustained defeat. Where the Asia, or mounted 
courier, once spurred forth upon his hasty errand, 
the lightning of heaven now speeds by telegraphic 
wires to the farthest corners of the land ; through 
the craggy passes, and along the level plains, marked 
some centuries ago with scarcely a bridle-path, the 
mighty steam-horse thunders over its iron track with 
its ponderous load ; and, instead of the small city 
which lay cooped up within its battlemented walls 
around the castle, a glittering panorama of streets 
and squares, docks, store-houses, towers, and splen- 
did domes, now spreads outward to the capacious 
bay, where, in place of the crazy fleets of diminutive 
war-galleys and merchant-vessels, with their fantas- 
tic prows and carved mast-heads, the huge hull of 
the steam-propelled ship now rides at anchor beside 
the populous quays, or ploughs the blue waves be- 
yond the hoary headlands of old Ben Hedar, like a 
miniature volcano, with its attendant cloud-volumes 
on the far horizon line. 

* This band of knights was instituted in the year 1475, for the pro- 
tection of the English Pale. A troublesome life they must have led 
in those days; for there never passed a season over their heads that 
they did not cross swords with the neighboring Irish clans. 

8 


114 


THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH . 


Retaining still some of its ancient appurtenances, 
such as its moat, curtain- walls, &c., the Castle of 
Drimnagh presents one of the best specimens in the 
neighborhood of Dublin of the ancient feudal 
stronghold. It stands beside the way leading from 
Crumlin to the village of Clondalkin, and within a 
few short miles of the city. According to the most 
authentic accounts, it was founded in the time of 
King John, by a knight named De Bernival, who 
came to Ireland in the train of that prince, and 
received from him a grant of the surrounding lands. 
From this knight, the different families of Barnwell 
in Ireland claim their descent. His death occurred 
about the year 1221 ; and his descendants held pos- 
session of Drimnagh and Terenure till the time of 
James the First, when their possessions, after a te- 
dious lawsuit, fell to Sir Adam Loftus. During the 
great insurrection of 1641, it was garrisoned for the 
king by the Duke of Ormond, and had the rare for- 
tune of escaping the destruction that followed, after 
the arrival on these shores of Cromwell and his stern 
legions. It is still inhabited, and in good preserva- 
tion, and will well repay the tourist who leaves the 
dust and toil and din of the city, and saunters out 
along the quiet country-roads, to pay it a visit. 
Should he linger there, and hold converse with the 
surrounding peasantry, he will hear many a story 
and romantic legend of days gone by, the particu- 
lars of which will prove no unpleasing accession to 
his note-book. One of these we will now proceed 


THE BOSE OF DRIMNAGH. 


115 


to relate, and hope it may prove a& interesting to 
the reader as it did to ourselves, when we heard it 
told one quiet summer evening beneath the shadow 
of the ivy-wreathed battlements of Drimnagh. 

During the reign of a certain English monarch, 
whose name we need not particularly mention, Sir 
Hugh de Barnwell ruled with a high and lordly 
hand in his feudal stronghold of Drimnagh. He 
was a stout and stern knight, whose life had been 
spent amid the commotions of the war that, year by 
year, raged between the Palesmen and the Irishry. 
Many a tough battle he had fought, and many a 
wound he had received, since he first donned the 
knightly spurs ; and it will not be wondered at, there- 
fore, when we mention that he looked upon the 
native races around with no small amount of 
hatred. Among those against whom his animosity 
burned most fiercely were the O’Byrnes, lords of 
Imayle, whose chief had once sacked his Castle of 
Drimnagh, and driven the herds pertaining to it 
over the southern mountain barrier, into Wicklow. 
The chief was still living at the time our story 
commences, and had two sons, the youngest of 
whom, named Sir John O’Byrne, was a knight of 
unwonted bravery. To his great personal beauty 
was added every accomplishment fitted for one of 
his high station ; and when, at the head of his bold 
horsemen, he rode down the mountains, on a foray 
into the Pale, it would be hard to find in the 
whole wide champaign over which he cast his 


116 


THE ROSE OF BRIMS AG H. 


eagle eye a man of more splendid appearance and 
gallant bearing. Sir Hugh de Barnwell had one 
son, who was renowned throughout the Pale for 
his prowess, and for the ferocity with which he 
always fought against the neighboring chief of 
Imayle. The following will explain his reasons for 
hating the O’Byrnes with such bitterness. Living 
in his father’s house at the time, was his cousin, 
Eleanora de Barnwell, who, in consequence of her 
beauty, was called “ The Rose of Drimnagh.” 
To this young lady Sir Edmond de Barnwell had 
been betrothed ; and matters went on smoothly and 
pleasantly enough for some time, till, during a truce 
entered into between the Palesmen and the Wick- 
low clans, Eleanora met Sir John O’Byrne at a 
nobleman’s house, on a festival-day, in Dublin. Up 
to this, The Rose of Drimnagh knew little of her 
heart ; but she soon learned to love the young Wick- 
low chief, and, as a natural consequence, to look 
with coldness and indifference upon her cousin, who, 
at length coming to the knowledge of the affair, 
swore to be avenged upon his rival. The truce 
was scarcely over, when he was up and at work; 
and many a rifled hamlet and burning dwelling 
marked his track through the glens of Wicklow; 
and many a desolate widow cursed his name and 
race as she sung the keen over the bodies of 
her slaughtered ones, who had fallen beneath the 
spears of Sir Edmond de Barnwell and his ruth- 
less followers. 


THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. 


117 


But at last a time came when a triumphant light 
shone in Sir Edmond’s eyes ; for he thought upon 
the day, now near at hand, which was fixed upon 
for his marriage with the lovely Rose of Drim- 
nagh. 

“ Once more,” he said, “I will seek the mountains, 
to find him before the marriage revel. By the soul 
of a knight, an I lay my hands upon him, but he 
shall rue the hour ! — yes, rue it ; for I swear to bring 
him in chains to look upon the bridal, and then to 
string him up, as I would one of his own mountain 
wolves, upon the gallows-tree, before the gate of 
Drimnagh.” 

It was nightfall as he spoke thus. Little he knew, 
that, at that same moment, Sir John O’Byrne was 
sitting quietly beneath the dark shadows of a tree 
outside the moat, looking up cautiously at the win- 
dow of the little chamber in which Eleanora de 
Barnwell was sitting, weeping bitterly over the sad 
fate to which she knew but too well she would soon 
have to submit. As she sat thus, a low soft sound, 
like the cooing of a dove, fell upon her ears. She 
listened intently a moment, then stepped softly over 
to the single window of the apartment, and, opening 
the casement, looked out. Again the sound stole 
up from under the deilse foliage that shaded the 
outer edge of the moat. Eleanora leaned upon the 
sill, and peered down into the gloom ; but nothing 
met her gaze, save the ghostly shadows of the 
trees upon the black belt of water beneath. 


118 


THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. 


“ It is his signal,” she whispered to herself as the 
sound was repeated once more. “ Ah, me ! I fear he 
will get himself into danger on account of these 
nightly visits. And yet I cannot, I cannot bid 
him stay away.” 

She muffled herself in a dark mantle, moved 
towards the door, opened it cautiously and listened, 
ere she ventured to steal down and meet her lover. 

“I must and will warn him to-night to stay 
away,” continued she, as, with a light and stealthy 
step, she descended the winding stair, — “ ah ! to 
stay away, and leave me to my misery. It is hard ; 
but it must be done : otherwise he will assuredly be 
captured and slain.” 

After stealing down an infinite number of dark 
passages, corridors, and stairways, she at length 
emerged into the open air, and glided through a 
neglected postern, out beneath a spreading beech- 
tree that shaded the inner edge of the moat, oppo- 
site the spot whence the signal of her lover pro- 
ceeded. Again she peered into the gloom at the 
other side, and saw there a tall dark figure standing 
beneath a tree on the edge of the water. Well she 
knew the graceful outlines of that figure, and fondly 
her heart throbbed at the sound of the voice that 
now addressed her. 

“ Dearest,” said the young mountain knight in a 
low tone, “I thought thou wouldst never come. I 
have been standing like a statue against the trunk 
of this tree behind me for the last half-hour, watch- 


THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. 


119 


ing for a light in thy window-pane. But it seems 
that darkness pleases thee better. Ah, Eleanora ! I 
hope thou art not still indulging in those sorrowful 
forebodings.” 

“ And wherefore not, John?” answered she sadly. 
44 What thoughts but gloomy ones can fill my mind, 
when I am ever thinking of the danger thou incur- 
rest by coming here so often, — and thinking, too,” 
she added, after a pause, 44 of the woful fate to 
which we are destined ? ” 

44 Think no more on’t,” said her lover, in a cheer- 
ful tone. 44 We have hope yet, Eleanora; for, mark 
me, thy marriage with Sir Edmond de Barnwell will 
never take place.” - 

“Alas! there is no hope,” resumed Eleanora. 
“Even to-day, my uncle, the Knight of Drimnagh, 
hath fixed the time for — to me — the woful bridal. 
And thou, John — let this be our last meeting, alas! 
in this world. Wert thou taken prisoner by my dark 
cousin, he hates thee so, that he would burn thee at 
a stake in the courtyard.” 

44 Fear not for that, dearest,” answered the young 
chief. 44 And this bridal that thou fearest. Listen, 
Eleanora. Before the hour comes, or, perchance, at 
the very hour when he is about to place the bridal- 
ring upon thy lily finger, the gay goshawk may 
swoop down, and bear thee away to his free moun- 
tains, amid their sunny glens and bosky woods, 
to love thee, darling, as no other mortal man could 
love thee.” 


120 


THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. 


“ Ah me ! ” sighed poor Eleanora. “Would that 
it could be so ! But I fear that we are fated to see 
each other for the last time to-night. I warn thee, 
John, to be wary henceforth ; for I am well- watched. 
Hush ! was that a foot-fall amid the grove yonder?” 
And she pointed to a clump of trees some distance 
to the right of where her lover stood. 

“ By my faith but it may be so ! ” answered he ; 
“ and so thou hadst better return to thy chamber. 
In the mean time, I will wait here till I see the light 
in thy window once more, and until thou biddest me 
farewell from the casement.” 

Again they listened, and heard a slight rustling 
sound amid the trees to which Eleanora had 
pointed. It ceased; and then the fair Rose of 
Drimnagh, trembling at the thought of her fierce 
cousin, waved a fond farewell to her mountain lover, 
and, gliding once more through the postern, as- 
cended the stairs to her chamber. But the bold 
Knight of Imayle was not to be frightened away by 
the sound, whatever might have caused it. He 
moved in beneath the shadow of the tree, listened 
for a time, and, hearing nothing further, advanced 
again, and looked up to where the light was now 
burning brightly in Eleanora’s window. Seating 
himself upon the side of the moat, in the shadow, 
and still looking fondly upward, he commenced, in 
a voice low, but distinct, a lay to his mistress, of 
which the following paraphrase may convey some 
idea : — 


THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. 


121 


“ Oh ! wilt thou come and be my bride ? 

Oh ! wilt thou fly with me 

Where wild streams glide by mountain-side, 

By glen and forest-tree? 

And thou’lt be lady of that land, 

And like a queen shalt reign 

O’er shore and strand, and mountain grand, 

And many a sunny plain ! 

I’ve found a lone and lovely cave 
Where gleams a little lake ; 

Where the wild rills fling the silver wave, 

And the birds sing in the brake : 

The lake gleams clear, the rills dance bright, - 
Down gorge and rocky pile ; 

But the darkness of a starless night 
Is in my soul the while. 

And nought can light it, save a glance, 

A beam, from thy jet-black eye ; 

And nought can break my heart’s cold trance 
Save thy witching song or sigh. 

Then come ! I’ve decked that cave for thee 
With summer’s fairest flowers ; 

Away, away, o’er the hills with me. 

To the forest glens and bowers ! ” 

The moment the song had ceased, the fair form 
of the Rose of Drimnagh appeared at the casement 
overhead. She waved a fond farewell to her young 
mountain minstrel, and closed the window ; but the 
light that shone through its pane had now lost its 
charm for him, as he had no longer her fair face to 
look upon. He stood up, and, gazing once more 


122 


THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. 


at the casement that glimmered like a star amid 
the dark masses of masonry above, turned to depart, 
when he felt the heavy grasp of a steel-clad hand 
upon his shoulder. 

“ Stay ! ” exclaimed the intruder in a deep, stern 
voice, whose tone the young Knight of Imayle 
knew but too well. “Thou hast a small account to 
settle, fair sir, ere thou leavest this spot. I am Sir 
Edmond De Barnwell.” 

“And I,” answered the other, “am Sir John 
O’Byrne of Imayle : what seekest thou from me ? ” 

“ That thou shalt soon know, skulking hill-cat ! ” 
answered De Barnwell, unbuckling his sword, un- 
sheathing it, and throwing belt and scabbard upon 
the ground. “There be a certain tide which men 
call blood, coursing beneath that breast-plate of 
thine. I seek to discover its fount with this ; ” and 
he extended his weapon. 

“There be a certain tide behind thee which thou 
art more likely to explore presently ! ” retorted 
O’Byrne. “ Ha, ha ! beware the hill-cat’s spring, 
De Barnwell ! ” and he gave a sudden bound that 
brought him inside the guard of his antagonist, 
whose waist he instantly encircled with his sinewy 
arms. There was an ineffectual attempt to pluck 
forth their daggers ; and then Sir Edmond De Barn- 
well was hurled from the stalwart arms of the 
brave Knight of Imayle, and sent plunging headlong 
into the black waters of the moat. Leaving his foe 
to scramble as best he could from his dangerous 


THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. 


123 


bath in the fosse, O’Byrne glided through the thick- 
ets, and sought his steed, which he had left in a 
lonely grove hard by, and was soon riding in head- 
long haste across the plain towards the stern moun- 
tain barrier that lay between him and his native 
glens. And now De Barnwell, after extricating 
himself with great difficulty from the treacherous 
waters, stood, all dripping, upon the firm bank; his 
burly frame quivering, not from the chill of his 
immersion, but from fury at his mishap. Pursuit of 
his late antagonist was, he knew, of little use now ; 
so, plucking up his sword which lay beside him, he 
raised the cold steel blade to his lips, kissed it, 
vowed a stern vow of vengeance against O’Byrne 
and his race, root and branch; and then, striding 
down by the water’s side, crossed the drawbridge, 
and sought his chamber, where he sat, till long 
after midnight, brooding over various plans of mer- 
ciless and bloody retribution. 

The particulars of his subsequent cruel raid into 
the glens of Wicklow it is unnecessary to relate; 
and we shall now come to the day which his father 
had fixed upon for the marriage. It was early in 
the morning ; and the fair Rose of Drimnagh, sur- 
rounded by her lovely maids, looked sadly upon the 
gorgeous white bridal-dress which lay on a table 
beside her, and which she was at last about to put 
on. 

“Ah me!” she sighed mournfully, “that it hath 
come to this ! In vain have I watched for him to 


124 


THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. 


appear in his accustomed place by the moat; but his 
promise is broken : and what could have broken it 
but death ? ” And the tears gathered into her eyes 
as she thought thus of her lover. 

“ Cheer thee, Eleanora ! ” said her cousin, a young 
and gay city dame. “ I warrant thee that such a 
bridal as thine was never seen in Dublin: I only 
wish I were in thy place.” 

“ Alas that thou art not ! ” returned Eleanora. 
“ Something tells me that what thou sayest is but 
too true, — that such a bridal as mine was never 
seen.” And with the help of her maids she now 
began to don the dress. 

The marriage was to take place in the city ; and 
Sir Edmond de Barnwell had summoned his kins- 
•men of the Pale, with all their fierce retainers, in 
order to strengthen his escort for the bridal-train, 
which at last, in splendid array, crossed the draw- 
bridge of Drimnagh, and moved along the winding 
road that led to the western gate of Dublin. This 
road was crossed by another, midway between 
the castle and the city, and within a wood which 
stretched down from the mountains to the shores of 
the Liffey. About half the bridal-train had passed 
the cross; and the remainder, with the bride and 
bridegroom before them, were moving gayly forward, 
when all at once the wild war-cry of the O’Byrnes 
resounded from the wood all around, and the next 
instant a large body of men, headed by the young 
Knight of Imayle, sprang from their concealment, 


THE BOSE OF DRIMNAGH. 


125 


and fell upon the escort front, rear, and flank. It is 
needless to go minutely into the details of the terri- 
ble fight that then took place at the Minstrel’s Cross, 
as the spot was called. The escort were at first put 
to flight and pursued by the O’Byrnes ; but, return- 
ing again to the charge, the light kern of the 
mountains were borne down by their heavy horses, 
though they fought it out bravely to the last. The 
Knight of Imayle, after badly wounding the bride- 
groom, was shot through the heart by the old Lord 
of Drimnagh, as he attempted to seize the bridle of 
Eleanora’s palfrey. This ended the fray. The body 
of the young knight was borne away by his follow- 
ers, and buried in the lonely graveyard that lay 
amid the mountains. The bridal-train, instead of 
proceeding to Dublin, returned to the Castle of 
Drimnagh, where Sir Edmond de Barnwell was laid 
upon a bed from which he never rose. 

Three days after the fatal battle at the Minstrel’s 
Cross, Eleanora disappeared from the Castle of Drim- 
nagh. Search was made for her throughout the sur- 
rounding country, and even in the neighboring city ; 
but it was of no avail : she was nowhere to be found. 
At length a party of the O’Byrnes, who were driv- 
ing a creaght of cattle across the mountains, halted 
beside the solitary churchyard to pay a visit to their 
young chief, and, upon the fresh sod that lay above 
his gallant breast, found the lifeless body of the 
ill-fated Rose of Drimnagh. They hollowed her a 


126 


THE ROSE OF DRIMNAGH. 


grave beside her lover ; and there, in the words of 
the old ballad, — 

" These loving hearts by fortune blighted, 

By sorrow tried full sore, 

In life apart, in death united. 

Sleep side by side forevermore.” 



The House of Lisbloom. 

A LEGEND OF SARSFIELD. 


+ 

CHAPTER I. 

SHOWING HOW ELLIE CONNELL SENDS NEWS OF HERSELF 
TO HER LOVER. — CONTAINING ALSO THE J'lGHT BETWEEN 
GALLOPING O’HOGAN AND THE CAPTAIN OF BLUE DRAGOONS 
IN THE SWAMP OF MONA. 

B ETWEEN two of the abrupt hills which shoot 
out upon the Limerick plain from the wild 
range of Sliav Bloom, there is a deep pass commu- 
nicating with level country on each side, and send- 
ing down a noisy stream to swell the waters of the 
Mulkern, that winds far beyond into the Shannon. 
To the careless or ignorant observer, this pass pre- 
sents little to distinguish it from the many in its 
neighborhood, save its somewhat greater depth and 
barrenness ; but it will at once strike a person having 
even a slight knowledge of the art military as a 
spot of much importance in time of war. In the 
latter point of view, indeed, it seems to have been 

127 


128 


THE HOUSE OF LIS BLOOM. 


looked upon by the contending parties in the 
various struggles that desolated this island in for- 
mer times : and well they might so regard it ; for, 
besides leading directly to an ancient ford across 
the Shannon, it formed the safest outlet from the 
fruitful plains that lay, with all their towns and 
strong military positions, to the eastward. 

As you proceed up the pass, about midway be- 
tween its two extremities, a huge mound rises 
before you, with the small stream half encircling its 
base. On the summit lie a heap of grass-covered 
ruins, surrounded by half-obliterated outworks, and 
a deep, dry ditch, that, with its bristling palisadoes, 
must have once formed a formidable barrier against 
the entrance of a foe. These ruins are the remains 
of what, about a century and a half ago, was a 
fortified and very strong mansion, called the House 
of Lisbloom. 

This house, during the various wars, often 
changed masters ; and at the period to which our 
story relates was in the possession of a man whom, 
of all others, and for very plain reasons, the sur- 
rounding peasantry least relished as its lord. His 
name was Gideon Grimes. The father of the 
worthy Gideon w r as an undertaker ; that is, an Eng- 
lish settler, who had made his home in that part 
of the country after the termination of the Crom- 
wellian wars, and there, amidst the conquests of his 
bow and spear, had amused himself by occasionally 
hunting Rapparees, and, when successful in the 


THE HOUSE OF LI SB LOOM. 


129 


chase, hanging the poor fugitives without trial to 
the next handy tree. The bold Gideon himself 
followed for a time with a high hand in the foot- 
steps of his departed and redoubtable sire ; but 
with this difference, that, whereas the defunct 
Roundhead was consistent, and sternly held to his 
principle of exterminating the poor Irishry by the 
sword alone, the more sagacious son adopted, in 
the lapse of time, a safer and more peaceful method 
of venting his hatred upon his war-broken neigh- 
bors. Making use of the terrible laws, which, of 
course, were all on his side, he succeeded in driving 
several of the poor farmers around to beggary and 
death, and, seizing their holdings, thus enriched 
himself and gratified his inborn hatred of the un- 
fortunate peasantry at the same time. 

One instance will suffice to show the methods 
used by Black Gideon, — for so he was called by 
the people, — one, too, that had an important bear- 
ing upon his after fate. It happened that his next 
neighbor was a farmer, named Murrogh Connell, 
whose ancestors had been gentlemen of large prop- 
erty, but who having been broken “ horse and foot,” 
as they say, during the great rebellion and the pre^ 
vious troubles, had left Murrogh the possessor of 
only a farm, — a rich and large one, however, at 
the entrance of the pass of Lisbloom. On this 
farm Black Gideon had long cast his rapacious eye, 
concocting various plans for obtaining possession 
of it, all of which, in one way or another, failed. 


130 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


At last one of his spies came to him with the valu- 
able information that a number of old pikes and 
matchlocks lay concealed in a ruinous barn belong- 
ing to poor Murrogh Connell’s farmstead. This 
was enough. Gideon brought the law down like 
a sledge-hammer upon his unfortunate neighbor, 
ruined him, and was just on the point of turning 
him out of his farm, when the Williamite revolution 
commenced, the Battle of the Boyne was fought, 
and the retreating Irish armies took possession of 
the south of Ireland. This gave a short respite to 
Murrogh Connell. But the second siege of Lim- 
erick commenced ; and the Williamites, in their 
turn, occupied all the country to the south and 
east. So, feeling himself once more in power, Black 
Gideon drove out Murrogh, who, with his herds of 
cattle, betook himself to the wild mountains of Sliav 
Bloom, and commenced the life of a kyriaght, or 
wandering grazier of cattle. 

About a week after Murrogh’s flight to the moun- 
tains, his only daughter, Ellie, a beautiful young 
girl, walked down one evening to fetch water from 
a spring near their camping-place, but never re- 
turned. Search^ was made for her far and near, but 
never a trace of her could be found ; and, with 
bleeding hearts, her father, her two brothers, and 
Tibbot Burke, a young gentleman to whom she 
was betrothed a year previously, at length returned 
and told the sad tale to her mother. Suspicion in- 
deed fell upon Gideon Grimes who, it was re- 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


131 


marked, had cast his eye upon her as well as upon 
her father’s lands; but nothing certain regarding 
him or his proceedings could be gathered by her 
friends, notwithstanding that they watched him 
closely. 

One bright autumn noon the sun glittered from 
the spades, shovels, and hammers of a number of 
men whom Black Gideon had employed to build up 
the breaches in the outworks of his mansion in the 
pass, in order to secure himself from the bands of 
Rapparees who hung around the Williamite army, 
then commencing its operations upon the gallant 
city of Limerick. One of these laborers was a di- 
minutive, brown-skinned, wiry-looking young fellow, 
who, by the way he handled his spade, seemed no 
very diligent workman in the cause of Gideon. 
Under a remote gable-end of the house, he was 
employed clearing away some rubbish and weeds ; 
and, as he worked lazily under the blaze of the hot 
sun, he solaced himself occasionally with a little 
conversation addressed to himself, interspersed wifch 
some fragments of ballad poetry, the fag-ends of 
which he ornamented with various delectable 
choruses that seemed, from the way he doubled 
and trebled and again dwelt upon them, to soothe 
his spirit mightily under his distressing labor. 

“Wisha, may the blessed fingers fall off o’me,” 
exclaimed he at length, as he struck his spade 
against some loose stones at the base of the wall, 
“ if I haven’t found the very thing I wanted!” 


132 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


He looked cautiously round him. The laborers 
were all so busy at the outward wall that they could 
not observe him. “ Dhar Dhia ! ” continued he, as 
he. bent the tall nettles that concealed the spot 
aside with his spade, and examined the spot with his 
black, glittering eyes. “ Lord have marcy on us, if id 
isn’t the very hole that my grandfather entered wid 
his men when he killed every livin’ sowl o’ the 
bloody Parliamenthers that held Lisbloom long ago 
in the time o’ Crummill ! Aisy a bit, Cus Russid ! 
P’raps the time will come when you’ll do as well as 
your bowld grandfather, — rest his sowl in glory this 
blessed day, amin ! — an burn the house over Black 
Gideon an’ his murtherin’ villains. There’s a doore 
for the brave Rapparees, an’ ids myself that’ll soon 
take the news to them fresh and fastin’. ” And with 
that he carefully arranged the long nettles again, 
and recommenced his work and his song. 

While Cus Russid — we will give him the cogno- 
men used by himself, which means Brown Foot — 
was hanging on one of the most Elysian bars of a 
certain chorus, he heard his name pronounced in a 
low, sweet voice from the single window above him 
in the gable, and on looking up beheld the prettiest 
face imaginable, shaded with rich masses of yellow 
hair, bent upon him with an eager and frightened 
gaze from between the strong iron bars. 

“Tundher alive, if id isn’t Ellie Connell herself!” 
exclaimed he, wheeling round, and resting on his 
spade, “ Oh, wirra, wirra ! is id here I find you ? ” 


THE HOUSE OF LIS BLOOM. 


138 


“Hush !” said Elbe, for it was she: “I have but 
a moment. If you love my father’s house, Cus 
Russid, away with you, not to my father or brothers, 
for they can do nothing, I fear, but to my uncle 
O’Hogan and Tibbot Burke, and tell them that I 
am here ! ” And the casement was shut instantly, and 
Elbe’s face withdrawn. 

“May the four bones wither in my brown car- 
kiss,” said Cus Russid, “ if I don’t find them soon 
an’ suddint for you ! ” And with that he cast his 
spade from him ; and slinking over, like a fox, to a 
half-filled gap in the outworks, he crossed the ditch, 
unobserved by his companions, and soon gained the 
wood that clothed the opposite side of the pass. 

On reaching the summit of the ridgy hill that 
formed the western flank of the pass, Cus Russid 
walked deliberately to a thicket beneath a rock, 
and took therefrom an ashen staff, like a pike-handle, 
with a small iron ring at one end, to which was 
attached a piece of strong twine with a loop at its 
extremity. Again he dived his hand into the ferns, 
and pulled out a thick frieze cothamore, in which 
he instantly arrayed himself. He then put his hand 
into an inside pocket of the cotha, and drew forth a 
long, bright spear-head ; and, after gazing upon it 
with great comfort for a moment, replaced it in its 
hiding-place, turned, and shook his fist at the house 
of Lisbloom, and then, gradually sliding from a 
walk into a trot, went at a formidable pace across 
the country to the westward. 


134 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


After travelling thus for about a dozen miles, he 
at length sat down upon a height, and looked over 
a winding road that led directly towards him 
through the woody country from the north-west. 
Advancing along this road he soon perceived a 
troop of Williamite cavalry, with a large glittering 
cannon in their midst. It would have been the 
most natural thing in the world for Cus Russid to 
run away at such a sight. He did no such thing, 
however; but, on the contrary, using his spear- 
handle for a walking-staff, he descended the height, 
and advanced boldly along the road to meet them. 

“What’s your name, my man?” said the com- 
mander of the troop, as they came up. “ Come, 
out with it and your business too, for no man passes 
here unquestioned.” 

“ Wisha ! ” answered Cus, with a look of wonder- 
ful sheepishness and simplicity : “ they calls me Cus 
Russid, sir, by raison o’ these misforthunate brown 
feet I have upon me. Bud maybe your honor didn’t 
see any cattle about here, for my masther sint me 
every morthial step from the House o’ Lisbloom to 
look for them. Bad luck to them, ’tis a sore an’ 
sorrowful journey they’re givin’ me!” 

“ It is strange that we happen to be going to the 
very place he speaks ofi” said the commander to 
the young officer that rode beside him. “ Tell me, 
boy,” continued he, turning to Cus, “is it far to 
Lisbloom ? ” 

“’Tis a sore journey, sir,” answered the latter. 


THE HOUSE OF LI SB LOOM. 


135 


“ Bat maybe you’re the gineral that’s goin’ to defind 
id for Misther Gideon Grimes against the Rap- 
parees ; for if you are — there ! I see the cattle be- 
yant there in the wood, an’ I’ll just go an’- dhrive 
them up ; and then if I don’t lade you in pace an’ 
quietness up to the very gate o’ Lisbloom.” 

“ Pass on then, and be soon back,” said the cap- 
tain, as he turned and followed his troop. 

“Yes, pass on,” muttered Cus, after meeting two 
dragoons who rode at a good distance behind ; “ but 
wait till I come to the rereguard, an’, be the sowl o’ 
my father ! I’ll give you a different story to tell, you 
murtherin robber.” 

The dragoon who formed the extreme rearguard 
seemed to have, from some cause or other, lagged 
behind. Cus Russid therefore had full time for 
preparation. He took out his spear-head, stuck it 
carefully on his ashen shaft, and there fastened it by 
means of a small screw. Then, like a wolf awaiting 
his prey, he darted down into a hollow, and there 
crouching amid the copse, with blazing eyes and 
clenched teeth, glared out upon the lonely road. 
The unsuspecting dragoon at length rode merrily 
up ; but, as he passed, the deadly spear whizzed out 
from the bush, and struck him beneath the helmet 
on the neck. Almost before he reached the ground 
in his fall, Cus Russid had plucked the spear from 
his bleeding neck, with one bound was on his horse, 
and tearing away like a demon at a furious gallop 
across the country. 


136 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM . 


Finding that he was not pursued, after nearly 
half a dozen miles’ mad riding, Cus Russid slackened 
the pace of the strong troop-horse, and rode along 
with a light and contented heart over the level 
plain, with every rood of which he seemed to be 
intimately acquainted. It was sunset when he 
gained the verge of a thick and extensive wood, 
that stretched along the base and up the sides of a 
rugged mountain. Once more putting his horse to 
a brisk gallop, he dashed along a tangled pathway, 
and at last emerged into a little sylvan valley with 
a beautiful stream gurgling down through its bosom. 
At the foot of a steep, limestone rock, that jutted 
out to within a few yards of the rivulet, he beheld 
three men sitting under a spreading oak-tree, two 
of whom he instantly recognized. The one- nearest 
to him, as he rode up, was a young man of very 
handsome presence, tall, lithe, and brown-haired, 
and armed with carbine, sword, and pistol. His 
corselet and morion, in the latter of which was 
stuck a spray of green fern by way of a plume, 
glittered in the red beams of the sun, as he sat with 
a drinking-flask in his hand upon the bank over the 
water. The other was a man nearly forty years of 
age, of somewhat low stature, but herculean build 
of frame, and with an oval face rendered almost 
black by exposure to the suns of many climates. 
He was armed like his younger comrade, with the 
exception of his sword ; which, from the size of its 
scabbard, seemed of unusual length and weight. 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


137 


The third, whom Cus did not recognize, was a man 
of far taller stature than the young man above men- 
tioned, of a nobler and more commanding aspect, 
and with an eye that seemed to pierce to the very 
marrow of the brown-footed messenger, as the latter 
now sprang from his horse, and walked forward 
towards the tree. 

“ Captain,” said Cus Russid, as he approached the 
dark-visaged man, “ I have bad news for you.” 

O’Hogan, or Galloping O’Hogan, as he was usually 
called, — for it was that gallant captain, — started 
to his feet, and bent his keen, black eyes upon Cus. 

“What is it?” asked he. “There seems to be 
nothing but bad news for us now-a-days, poor 
Brown Foot.” 

“Your niece, Ellie Connell, is in the hands of 
Black- Gideon o’ Lisbloom, — bad luck to him, seed, 
breed, an’ gineration, I say, amen ! — an’ she towld 
me to tell you, for your life, to release her soon an’ 
suddint.” 

“ This is pleasant news for you, Tibbot Burke,” 
said O’Hogan to his younger companion. “ But no 
matter. We will set Ellie free, and put Black 
Gideon’s house in order sooner, I dare swear, than 
he reckons. The place this boy mentions, my lord,” 
continued he, turning to the other, — “ Lisbloom, is 
the house that commands the important pass I 
mentioned to you. We will see to it to-morrow or 
next day. In the meantime, we had better arrange 
our bivouac and go to sleep, after our hard day’s 


138 


THE HOUSE OF LIS BLOOM. 


ride ; for we have much before us on the morrow. 
Cus, my boy, attend to your horse, which seems in a 
sad state, — see, ours are picquetted in the wood, — 
and then come hither ; for you must keep the first 
watch.” 

In half an hour after, they were asleep, Cus Rus- 
sid standing sentinel beneath the tree. 

The sun of the next morning found them far 
away from their camping-place, riding on at a brisk 
trot towards the east, and all laughing heartily at 
Cus Russid’s account of his capture of the troop- 
horse. They were now approaching on their right 
the verge of a great marsh, called the Swamp of 
Mona, many miles in extent, and with a sluggish 
river oozing down lazily through its centre. The 
track on which they rode wound along the bosky 
skirt of a wood, wdiich, at some distance in advance, 
sent out its thickets and scattered trees to within 
about a mile of the low verge of the swamp. 
O’Hogan, who was somewhat in advance, suddenly 
reined up the stoutly-built but rather small nag he 
rode, and pointed to this projection of the wood. 
As he did so, they beheld the vanguard and advance 
column of an army slowly emerging into the sun- 
light, their arms glittering and flashing, and their 
banners fluttering gayly in the buxom breeze of the 
blithe autumn morning. 

“My lord,” exclaimed O’Hogan, riding back to 
him whom he addressed, “ you see we have raised 
the men of Kerry in good time against the invasion 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


139 


of General Tettau. There he is with a vengeance ! 
There are his savage Danish infantry and his blue 
Dutch dragoons ! ” 

“For a verity, I believe it is so,” answered the 
other. “ But we must be now quick to act, or we 
stand a good chance of having an audience of the 
Dutchman. My brave captain, as you claim to be 
general on this side of the Shannon, you must direct 
me what to do on the moment; for you know it 
would not serve the cause of the king to have me 
taken prisoner in an hour or so.” 

“ Away with you, then, my lord, — you and my 
lieutenant, Tibbot, and Brown Foot, round the marsh 
to the other side ; and there wait till I rejoin you.” 

“ And you,” answered the other : “ surely you are 
not thinking of one of your mad but gallant exploits 
this morning ; surely you are not rash enough to go 
forward ? ” 

“ Leave that to me,” answered O’Hogan laughing. 
“As you yourself say, I am general here, my lord; 
so take my word of command for the present. 
Right about wheel, and away ! ” And, with that, he 
gave the spur to his nag and dashed forward ; while 
his companions, after watching him for a moment, 
galloped off in the opposite direction, so as to get 
round the swamp, and put themselves at a safe dis- 
tance from General Tettau and his army. 

Meanwhile the bold Rapparee captain tore over 
the moorland, not, however, directly forward, but 
obliquely down to the verge of the swamp ; and, as 


140 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


he came opposite the flank of the column, halted, 
and coolly commenced to count the number of their 
cannon, and to estimate the strength of the enemy. 
It seemed to tickle their fancy mightily that a 
single man should thus put himself in such danger- 
ous proximity to them, with a broad marsh behind 
him ; for in a few moments, with a shout of laugh- 
ter, an officer and about a dozen men dashed out 
from the regiment of blue dragoons, and came at a 
thundering pace across the moor towards O’Hogan. 
But they little knew the man they had to deal with. 
The Rapparee, after finishing his observations, 
turned his nag to the marsh, — both horse and rider 
knew it well, — and began to flit over it with the 
lightness of a plover. The pursuers at length came 
down ; and, plashing heavily into the marsh, there 
soon stuck and floundered up to their saddle-girths, 
all except their captain, who seemed to be more 
accustomed to the thing, and who now led his 
horse warily after O’Hogan. The latter at length 
gained a broad, dry spot towards the centre of the 
swamp, and there, turning round his broad-chested 
nag, coolly waited the coming of his foe, who, after 
a few mishaps and several volleys of outlandish 
oaths, also gained the verge of the dry space. They 
were now within pistol-shot, the Dutch captain 
advancing cautiously on his heavy steed. 

“ Surrender, base hund ! ” shouted the latter, as 
he drew his long pistols from the holsters, and 
presented them at O’Hogan. 


THE HOUSE OF LI SB LOOM. 


141 


“ Ha, ha ! ” answered the Rapparee : “ you’ll have 
to take me first, mynheer. Come on, then, for the 
honor of Vaterland, old beer-swiller, and try your- 
self against the four bones of an Irishman.” 

For answer, the bullets from the two pistols went 
whistling, one after the other, by O’Hogan’s ear. 

“How, on the good faith of a man,” exclaimed 
O’Hogan, “I would rather, where there are only 
two of us, that you had stuck to the sword alone to 
decide between us, like a gentleman ! ” And, with 
that, he drew his long weapon from its sheath, and 
with his dark brows knit, and eyes flashing, sat 
prepared for the onset of the Dutchman. 

“ May de deevil seize thee for a damned Rappa- 
ree schelm ! ” roared the latter, as he thundered 
down upon O’Hogan, intending to ride over him, 
horse and man, with his heavy charger. 

But O’Hogan expected this, and was prepared for 
it. Swerving his nag nimbly to one side, he allowed 
the Dutchman to rush by ; and as he passed, after 
parrying his cut, struck him on the corselet, between 
the shoulders, with a force that bent him forward 
on the flying mane of his steed. The Dutchman, 
however, recovered himself, and came on gallantly 
once more. 

“ I could shoot you like a dog,” said O’Hogan, 
tapping his holster sternly with his left hand; “but 
no, I believe you to be a brave man after all. Come 
on, then, closer, closer, and let the good sword settle 
it between us.” 


142 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


In a moment the bright weapons crossed, and 
clashed against each other, striking sparks of lire 
by their deadly contact ; the horses swerved round 
and round ; again the swords clashed, till at length 
the long blade of the Rapparee went sheer through 
the side of the ill-fated Dutchman, who dropped 
from his charger with a heavy thud upon the boggy 
sward beneath. Tettau had watched the combat 
keenly ; for, in a few moments after his officer fell, 
the heavy boom of a cannon tore through the clear 
morning air, and the shot, intended for O’Hogan, 
struck, instead, the poor Dutchman’s charger upon 
the spine, and hurled it a shattered mass beside the 
body of its dying master. 

O’Hogan, with a grim smile, shook his gory 
sword at the hostile army, then turned his steed, 
and flitted once more across the swamp, beyond the 
range of their cannon-shot. 


CHAPTER H. 

IN WHICH SARSFIELD ARRIVES NEAR THE GATE OF TIR-N-AN- 
OGE, AND HEARS A ROMANCE FROM BROWN FOOT. — CON- 
TAINING ALSO THE ADVENTURE OF THE GRAY KNIGHT’S 
CHAMBER. 

There was a little book called “ The History of 
the Irish Rogues and Rapparees,” which the author 
happened to read in his boyhood, but on which, 


THE HOUSE OF LIS BLOOM. 


143 


happily for himself, he was not left dependent for 
information concerning the individuals whose lives 
were misrepresented therein. The book had a very 
extensive circulation among the peasantry ; and it 
is astonishing the number of opinions it influenced 
regarding the history of the times immediately 
following the Williamite conquest of this land, and 
the actions of the gallant men who fought for 
their homes and their religion against the psalm- 
twanging, snivelling, and murderous undertakers, 
and against the penal laws then in the flush and 
first swing of their gory vigor and brutality. The 
sorry-spirited sinner who wrote the book represents 
the Rapparees as a pack of ferocious bogtrotters, 
pickpockets, highwaymen, and murderers ; whereas, 
on the contrary, if the truth were known, they were 
a stout peasantry, led on by their hereditary cap- 
tains, gallant and noble gentlemen, who, when dis- 
possessed of their lands by the conqueror, took to 
the sword and gun as their only chance of existence, 
and on many a hill-side, and in the depths of many 
a forest and pass, poured out their life-blood trying 
to regain their ancient patrimonies, or, at least, 
'endeavoring to wreak honorable vengeance upon 
the robbers who held them in their iron grasp. In 
England, the free-born Saxon thanes, who took to 
the woods after the Norman conquest, are celebrated 
in many a stirring lay, and the actions of the brave 
Spanish hidalgoes, who fought against the Moors, 
sung in innumerable melodious ballads; but the 


144 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


poor Irish gentlemen, who shed their blood in the 
Williamite wars, are only vilified and misrepresent- 
ed, though they were not a whit less gallant, hardy, 
or chivalrous than the Cids of Spain or the Robin 
Hoods of the sister island. With this preamble, 
which we hope the reader will excuse, we will now 
-resume our story. 

O’Hogan, whose nag seemed to know by instinct 
the firm parts of the swamp, was not long in gaining 
the dry and rising country to the south, where, on a 
green knoll beneath a clump of trees, he rejoined 
his 'companions, who had thence watched with 
anxious hearts the issue of the combat. 

“ Ha ! you are back at last,” said the elder horse- 
man, as O’Hogan rode up. “You had a narrow 
escape, captain ; but, on the good faith of a soldier, 
it was a brave exploit, though a little hair-brained 
for a man of my temperament.” 

“ You are not always in the same mood, then, my 
lord,” answered O’Hogan, laughing ; “ for it was only 
last year I saw you perform an exploit equal in 
daring to a thousand of mine just now. I did it, 
however, to show you the manner in which Tettau 
will be welcomed by the bold Rapparees of Kerry.*' 
It was not my first meeting with the Dutch blue- 
jackets ; and I hope to make them know me better 
before the war is over.” 

“ I remember your first meeting with them well,” 
remarked Tibbot Burke. “My lord, if I don’t mis- 
take, you must recollect it too. It was at the wo- 


THE HOUSE OF LIS BLOOM. 


145 


ful field of Aughrim, and on the shoulder of Kilcom- 
modan Hill,” continued he, as they rode forward 
again. “ O’Hogan and I were beyond the brow of 
the height, at the head of the irregular Rapparee 
horse, when the first troop of blue dragoons swept 
past us, down on the flying Irish infantry, after St. 
Ruth’s fall. We gave them but little time to play 
their sabres ; for we swept, in turn, down upon their 
rear with a clatter and a crash that they, too, will 
not forget.” 

“ I also shall not forget it,” said their companion, 
with a sad smile ; “ for that gallant charge aided me 
well in saving the remnant of our broken army.” 

“Who is he at all ? ” muttered Cus Russid to him- 
self, as be rode close behind, listening to the conver- 
sation. “ Be this blessed stick ! ” continued he, laying 
his hand upon the huge pummel of the dragoon 
saddle, in which he sat perched like a hawk, “ but 
he talks as’ big as if he was the greatest gineral on 
the univarsal earth.” He was not left long in 
doubt. 

“ Aye, my brave fellows,” continued the subject 
of his inquiries, “ and I shall not soon forget the 
brave dash you both made at my side when we 
rattled down that night upon the English convoy 
at Ballineety.” 

“ An’ cut them into mince-mate an’ smithereens, 
bad luck to their sowls ! ” interrupted Cus Russid, 
more loudly than he was aware of in his surprise. 
“ Honom-an-dhial ! but ’tis Sarsfield himself, an’ I 


10 


146 


THE HOUSE OF LTSBLOQM. 


have been talkin’ to him all the mornin’ just as if he 
was born a commerade o’ my own ! ” 

“And cut them into mince-meat, as our little 
friend behind us observes,” continued Sarsfield, 
laughing (for it was he) ; “ and destroyed their bag- 
gage and cannon, — a thing I never could have 
done, were it not for the sure intelligence you gave 
me of the enemy’s movements. But what road are 
we taking ? ” rejoined he, as he cast his bright eyes 
over a tract, of country, where, a few miles in their 
front, an abrupt hill towered up, with a calm lake 
gleaming in the sunlight at its foot. “ Now that 
my mission in the country is accomplished, and that 
I have seen what you can do in the rear of the 
enemy, I should be crossing the Shannon once more 
for Limerick, where, I fear, I am sadly wanted at 
the present juncture.” 

“Your mission is not entirely over, my lord,” an- 
swered O’Hogan. “You have yet to see the men 
of East Limerick and the Tipperary borders, and to 
give them encouragement by your presence for a 
day or two. For the rest, we shall guide you 
safely across the Shannon, above Limerick, not 
below it ; which latter would not be an easy task in 
the present disposition of Ginkel’s troops. The 
water you see beyond is Lough Gur, a place fre- 
quently visited by the foraging parties of the Eng- 
lish. To the front, then, Tibbot ; and you, Brown 
Foot, fall back farther to the rear, and keep those 
black eyes of yours on every bush and thicket around, 
for we must be careful,” 


THE HOUSE OF LIS BLOOM. 


147 


In this order they soon gained the shore of 
Lough Gur. Riding warily round the foot of the 
hill that towered above it to the north, they at 
length came to the eastern end of the lake; and 
there, at the side of a shaggy wood, they dismounted, 
and sat down to regale themselves from Tibbot’s 
flask and the wallet of provisions he had carried all 
the morning at his saddle-bow. 

Having satisfied their hunger, they looked around 
for Cus Russid, whose newly-awakeqed modesty 
would not permit him to sit down and join in their 
noonday meal ; and, after a little search, found that 
inquisitive individual half-way up the hill, and 
peering with much apparent interest into a hollow 
recess between two bowlders of rock. 

“ What were you looking for at the rock, Cus?” 
asked Tibbot of Brown Foot, as the latter, after 
being recalled to their resting-place, was in the 
agreeable process of finishing his repast. 

“ Wisha, faith, if the truth must be towld, sir, ” 
answered Cus, “I was just sarchin’ for the doore 
through which my uncle, Rody Condon, got into 
Tir-n-an-Oge. ’Tis a quare story, an’ will make you 
laugh, if I may make so bowld as to tell it.” 

“ Clear your throat first with the flask before you 
commence, boy,” said Sarsfield, smiling. “It will 
enliven your story, and mayhap enable you to add 
something of your own to the thread.” 

“ In the whole barony, there wasn’t a quarer man 
than my uncle Rody,” rejoined Cus Russid, thus en- 


148 


THE HOUSE OF LISE LOOM. 


couraged. “ He never went out in his life afther 
nightfall that he didn’t see a ghost, — Lord athune 
us an’ harum ! — or a sperrit o’ some kind or other. 
The Headless Man o’ Drumdhorn an’ himself were 
ould acquaintances; an’, as for the Green Woman o’ 
Tiernan’s Ford an’ he, they were like brother an’ 
sisther. The Good People — wid respect I purnounce 
their name this blessed day — loved him as if they 
were his born childher ; an’ good raison they ought, 
for he never, went out on a journey high or low 
idout takin’ a cruiskeen o’ whiskey in one pocket of 
his cothamore, an’ a drinkin’-horn in the other, to 
thrate them, the crathures, when cowld or thirsty. 
Many a drinkin’-bout they had together in the ould 
fourths an’ castles by the lake, endin’ every one o’ 
them in their promisin’ to take him to Tir-n-an-Oge, 
— for he was morthial aiger to get a glimpse o’ the 
doins there, — an’ then puttin’ him to sleep an’ 
stalin’ the whiskey, — small blame to them for that, 
anyhow ! 

“ Well, at any rate, one Novimber eve, as he was 
cornin’ home from Bruff, after sellin’ four pigs of his 
agin the winther, he sat down beyant there by the 
lake, an’ drew out his cruiskeen an’ dhrinkin’-horn 
to relieve himself from the cowld ; for ’twas a frosty 
night. Afther, maybe, takin’ about twice the full 
o’ the horn, he saw cornin’ crass the hill towards him 
a little ould atomy of a man, not much higher than 
my knee, an’ all dhressed in gray to the very cau- 
been upon his head. 


THE HOUSE OF LiSBLOOM. 


149 


“ ‘ Wisha, much good may id do you, that same 
cruiskeen, Rody ! * said the little man, cornin’ down, 
an’ plantin’ himself fornint my uncle on the grass. 
‘ Would you like to see Tir-n-an-Oge to-night ? ’ 

‘“You know I would, Traneen Glas,’ said my 
uncle (for they seemed to be ould friends) ; ‘ an’ 
many is the time, you schamer, you dissaved me on 
the head o’ seem’ it too. But a cead mille failthe 
for all that, Traneen ! Rody Condon isn’t the man 
to give a frind the cowld showldher while there’s a 
sup in the cruiskeen. Here is health an’ happiness, 
an’ may the wheels of our carnages rowl on pave- 
ments o’ diamond ! ’ 

“‘The same to you, Rody,’ said Traneen Glas, 
aflher he had emptied the dhrinkin’-horn in his 
turn. ‘’Tis a rale sweet dhrop, anyhow. An’ now 
let us be off to Tir-n-an-Oge.’ 

“ ‘ The devil resave the morsel of us will stir out 
o’ this till we empty the cruiskeen at any rate,’ said 
my uncle ; an’ with that they tackled to, an’ never 
stopped i*or stayed till all the whiskey was gone. 

“ The minnit the last dhrop was swallowed, Tran- 
een Glas clapped his hands together with a sound 
like tundher. Then a whirlwind came roarin’ up 
from the lake ; an’, spinnin’ my uncle round an’ round, 
it drove him like a cannon-ball in through a great 
doore that opened bethune the rocks beyant there. 
It took away his breath an’ eye-sight, it was so loud 
an’ terrible; but at last it ceased, an’ my uncle 
looked around an’ found himself standin’ on the 


150 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


verge of a great green forest, in the midst of the 
most beautiful counthry the sun ever shone upon. 
4 ’Tis Tir-n-an-Oge every inch of it,’ said my 
uncle, as he went on an’ on through the forest, till 
at last he came to a great meadow. All over this 
meadow were ranged thousands upon thousands of 
knights on horesback, their great spears stuck in the 
ground beside them, their hands upon their soord- 
hilts an’ their armor glittherin’ ; but all seemed to 
be asleep, an’ as still an’ motionless as the ould 
figures upon the tombstones in Kilmallock. At 
their head sat a great lord all in goolden armor, with 
his hand also upon the dazzlin’ handle of his soord. 

“ 4 Mille gloria ! if it isn’t Garodh Earla an’ his 
knights I’m lookin’ upon ! ’ said my uncle. The 
mighty earl awoke at the voice. 

44 4 Is the hour come, Rody Condon ? ’ said he, in 
a great voice that went echoin’ through the forest ; 
an’ with that he half dhrew his soord from the scab- 
bard. 

44 4 Wisha, faith, my lord, ’tis nearly cqme!” an- 
swered my uncle; ‘for them bloody undhertakers 
are spilin’ an’ robbin’ in the worldt above, an’ mur- 
therin’ us all like wild bastes. But wait till I come 
back from seein’ my frinds, an’ thin, if you considher 
it time, my sowl to glory if I don’t show you the 
way out; for the'Sassenachs want a taste of some 
o’ them long soords badly ! ’ 

44 With that my uncle passed on — bad scran to 
him ! for if he answered an’ said the hour was come, 


THE HOUSE OF LI SB LOOM. 


151 


Garodh Earla an’ all his knights would be back here 
in the twinklin’ of an eye, an’ ’tis short work they’d 
make o’ the Sassenachs if they came. On an’ on 
he went, till in the bottom of a green valley he 
came fornint a grand house ; an’ his heart leapt 
with joy when he heard the people inside rattlin’ 
up ‘Garryowen’ with a chorus that seemed to 
shake the very rafthers. 

‘“Be this stick!’ said he, ‘but they seem to be 
refreshin’ themselves inside anyhow. I’ll just step 
in, an’ p’rhaps it’s a cead mille failthe I’d get to Tir- 
n-an-Oge from some one ! ’ 

“ He did so ; an’ the first person he saw inside was 
his cousin, Johnnie Harty, w T ho, with a number of his 
commerades that my uncle knew as ould frinds, sat 
around a table o’ diamond stone regalin’ themselves 
on metheglin. 

“ ‘ Wisha ! a thousand welcomes to Tir-n-an-Oge, 
Rody,’ said his cousin. ‘ Here, take a jorum o’ this 
to refresh yourself, an’ then p’raps you’d tell us 
some news from the worldt above.’ 

“ ‘ I’ll tell you one thing,’ said my uncle, afther 
emptying the cup, ‘this is a sweet drink sure enough, 
an’ p’raps fit for yourselves ; but, if you don’t give me 
somethin’ stronger to wet my windpipe on this 
blessed Novimber night, I’ll die with the druth. 
I’d rather have one glass o’ Tom Fraher’s potheen 
than a whole gallon o’ this wake thrash ! ’ 

“‘Well,’ said his cousin, ‘we can ^ive you noth- 
in’ stronger at present, Rody ; but haven’t you any 
news ? 


152 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


“ ‘ Devil a much,’ said my uncle, ‘ an’ so I’ll let it 
alone till I hear what kind of a counthry this is to 
live in ; for I mane to come an’ settle here as soon 
as I can, if it shuits me, which I think it will to a T.’ 

ut ’Tis a wondherful place,’ answered Johnnie. 
‘ The first place you saw belongs to Garodh Earla, 
this to us, an’ that beyant there to the Fenians of 
Erinn. Come, boys, let us show the place to my 
cousin, Rody Condon.’ 

“With that they all stood up, an’ conducted 
Rody beyant their own boundary into another part, 
where he saw all the Fenians of Erinn encamped 
upon a hill ; some engaged in wrestlin’ matches, an’ 
bouts with soords an’ all that, an’ some preparing for 
the chase of a great stag that kept the forest beneath. 

“ ‘ Where’s Cuchullin ? ’ asked Rody. 

“ ‘ There he’s over at the edge of the camp leanin’ 
on his spear,’ answered his cousin; ‘an’ there is 
Curigh MacDaire stand in’ beside him. They’re the 
best frinds now, although in the worldt above they 
often had a rattlin’ fight about the beautiful Blanaid, 
who lives now over there in that bright palace 
above the stream.’ 

“ ‘ Wisha ! faith then,’ said Rody, ‘ ’tis little she 
disarved a palace for lavin’ her lawful husband, 
Curigh, to fly with Cuchullin. If things are carried 
on in this way, the devil a fut o’ me will stay here 
for one. Haven’t ye a single dhrop o’ the crathur 
to wet a poor fellow’s whistle afther his long 
journey?’ 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


153 


44 4 Not a taste but metheglin,’ they all answered. 

44 4 W ell, that settles the question,’ said Rody, 
givin’ his cuthamore a shake. 4 Dang the bit o’ me, 
will ever stay in a counthry where there isn’t a 
dhrop o’ potheen to be had for love or money.’ 

44 The word was scarcely out of his mouth when 
the whirlwind caught him up again, an’ he was 
tossed an’ tumbled an’ rowld between its roarin’ 
wings out upon the very spot where he had sat 
down some time before to refresh himself. He felt 
for his cruiskeen, but found it empty. 

44 4 Well,’ said he, as he stood up an’ began to walk 
home, 4 the fairies must have played a thrick on me, 
— bad luck to Traneen Glas, that little imp o’ per- 
dition ! He an’ his commerades drank what was in 
the cruiskeen, but it is a long time till they catch 
me again on Novimber night.’ 

44 An’ so thjtt, my lord, is what happened to my 
uncle,” concluded Cus Russid; 44 but wait till I find 
out the door into Tir-n-an-Oge, an’ once set my 
eyes on Garodh Earla an’ his mighty warriors, if ” 

He was not allowed to finish his sentence ; for in 
an instant there was a rush from the trees behind 
them, and, before they could turn or gain their feet, 
poor Cus and his companions were seized by a num- 
ber of men, disarmed and pinioned, and, with horse- 
cloths thrown over their faces, dragged through 
the wood despite their struggles, and at length 
thrown rudely into a confined place like a cavern, 
where, when they succeeded in shaking the rough 


154 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


cloths from before their eyes, they endeavored to 
look round, but found themselves in total darkness. 
Tibbot, who happened to be the last thrust in, put 
out his hand, as well as he could, to feel for some 
support, and rested it against, what seemed to him, a 
wall composed of huge stones placed one upon the 
other in the manner of those cyclopean structures, 
some of which are yet found in the country. 
Through a chink between two of these blocks of 
stone, a low, sharp voice now grated on his ear, like 
the hiss of a serpent : — 

“ Remember Ellie Connell, base Rapparee dog,” 
said the voice in accents that Tibbot knew but too 
well, “ and remember also how you crossed my path 
when it led to her love. Vengeance is in my hand 
at last ; and, as sure as there is a hell beneath you, 
you and your companions shall swing from the best 
branch in the wood before set of sun.” 

“Try it,” answered Tibbot, as he wrenched the 
cords that bound his arms asunder. Ha ! my arms 
are now free ; and, when you come for us, you will 
find us hard to take. Miscreant undertaker! you 
will pay dearly for this, if you come within reach 
of me, even as I now stand unarmed.” 

“ Heed him not, Tibbot,” said OTIogan, creeping 
over to his lieutenant, in order to get his arms also 
unbound. “ Gideon Grimes,” he continued, as he 
felt his arms free, “ I was often in a worse strait 
than this, and trust I shall live to pay you back the 
deep debt I owe you.” 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


155 


“ Think of it not,” answered Gideon, in a mocking 
voice through the chink. “ Think only that you are 
in safe custody here ; that your niece is safe under 
lock and key in Lisbloom ; that my vengeance is in 
high train at last, and that you are to be hung this 
eventide as high as Human, for I have sent for the 
ropes that are to settle all debts between us.” And, 
with that, they heard his retreating step as though 
he were issuing from an outer chamber of the struc- 
ture in which they were confined. 

“ My lord,” said O’Hogan, in a low voice, as he 
unbound Sarsfield’s arms, “.I am sorry that this 
mishap has befallen us, not for my own sake, but 
for yours. However, yonder ruffian knows you not. 
If he did, he would have seemed more glad of his 
prize. Trust to me to find some plan of escape 
before it comes to the worst.” 

“We will trust to our arms, and these small 
bowlders of rock beneath our feet, if it come to 
that,” returned Sarsfield, smiling grimly in the 
darkness. “By my faith! an they come to take us 
forth, we can at least dash out some of their brains, 
and then make a rush for our freedom.” 

During all this, Cus Russid, who had slipped 
through his noose, like an eel, had been groping 
about in the interior of their place of durance. 
Far in, in what seemed to be an inner chamber of 
their prison, he had discovered a round hole cut 
downward through a huge sandstone flag that 
formed the side of the roof. Through this hole, 


156 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


after a great deal of ingenious screwing, he had at 
length succeeded in protruding his black head. 
After looking out between the stems of the ferns 
that shaded the aperture, he carefully withdrew his 
head and returned to his companions. He had 
seen no pleasant sight. 

“Captain,” he said, as he crept up to where 
O’Hogan was still standing, “ there is a chink in the 
roof inside there, just large enough for my head. 
I looked out through it, an’ saw about twenty men 
undher an oak tree with Black Gideon in their 
midst, an’ they settlin’ ropes, like hangmen, to four o’ 
the strongest branches overhead. Oh, wirra, wirra ! 
what’ll become of us ? ” 

“Ha!” exclaimed O’Hogan, “ did you see where 
their horses were, Cus ? ” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Cus: “they were all grazin’ 
in a little hollow at the foot of a small lios in the 
wood.” 

“ Now,” rejoined O’Hogan, as if communing with 
himself, “ I begin to recollect where we are. But 
we can soon settle that question,” he continued, as 
with a sudden start he put his hand in his pocket, 
drew out a tinder-box, and struck a light. The 
blaze of the burning match fell dimly upon the 
opposite wall, and there showed the half-obliterated 
figure of a knight carved in the rough stone. 

“ By the blood of my body, my lord general ! ” 
exclaimed the brave Rapparee, the moment his eye 
fell upon the weird-looking and rude effigy, “but 


THE HOUSE OF LI SB LOOM. 


157 


we are more fortunate than I thought. We are in 
the Gray Knight’s Chamber, a place I know well. 
Black Gideon, when he thrust us in, did not know 
how many doors open from it, and what a treasure 
is hid there. Follow me, all; for there is not a 
moment to be lost.” With that, he lit another 
match, and led the way into the inner chamber. 
Here he pulled away a tall, thin flag that seemed 
to fit into the side-wall, and discovered the entrance 
to another chamber. On entering the latter, they 
found its dry floor strewn with weapons of all kinds 
from the old matchlocks and battleaxes of Queen 
Elizabeth’s time to the musketoons, half-pikes, and 
swords used in the days of the second Charles. 

“Now, general,” said O’Hogan, “choose your 
weapon. As for me, I will have this sword,” and he 
took up a huge, rusty one that rested against the 
wall. “ You, too, Tibbot. You, Cus, take a short 
pike, and that dagger lying at your feet. You will 
mayhap want the latter in the service you are about 
to perform. Attend to me, boy. From this place 
there are two underground passages, — one from this 
very chamber, that leads to the lios , under which 
you saw the horses grazing, — see ! here it is,” and he 
removed a sheaf of pikes from the wall, showing 
behind a low and narrow passage, — “ the other is 
from the chamber outside.” 

“ I know it, captain,” interrupted Cus. “It lades to. 
the other lios , in the very thick o’ the wood. I went 
through it twenty times. But I didn’t know this 
one.” 


158 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


“Very well,” rejoined O’Hogan. “You are to 
escape through that passage when Gideon and his 
men come in for us. You will go through it like a 
weazel, while we get out through this passage, seize 
three horses outside, and then ride for our lives. Be 
sure to make a good noise, to draw Gideon and his 
ruffians after you ; and, if one of them should over- 
take you at the far-off turn of the passage, you know 
the use of half-a-dozen inches of cold steel. Once 
you reach Lios. na Cummer, it will be easy for you 
to escape through the woods. We are going to 
Glenurra Castle, where you can rejoin us.” 

“Never fear me,' captain,” exclaimed Cus Russid. 
“If one o’ them overtakes me afore I reach the lios 
I’ll plant this athune his ribs. But, churp an dhoul! 
I hear them coming. Give me a couple o’ matches, 
captain. There, that’ll do,” and he crept out into 
the second chamber, and replaced the stone against 
the aperture, thus shutting out his companions from 
the observation of Gideon and his myrmidons. He 
now pulled away the slab that covered the main 
outlet, and let it fall with a loud crash on the stony 
floor. At the same moment, Gideon and most of his 
men came to the outer entrance, all with brands of 
lighted bog-deal in their left hands, — their pistols in 
the right. Every thing fell out just as O’Hogan had 
planned. He and Tibbot and Sarsfield gained the 
open air at length, suddenly fell upon and slew the 
three men left outside to guard the horses, and were 
in a moment galloping away with the speed of the 


THE HOUSE OF L1SBL00M. 


159 


wind towards Glenurra Castle. Cus Russid treaded 
the passage with the agility of a fox, waited at the 
turn mentioned by O’Hogan, and, planting his dag- 
ger, as he had promised, between the ribs of the 
first of his pursuers that ca“me up, gained the wood 
outside, and soon put several good miles between 
himself and Black Gideon. 

O’Hogan intended to meet at Glenurra Castle 
young Hugh O’Ryan, another and one of the 
bravest of his lieutenants. But when at sunset 
they walked into the hall of that ancient stronghold, 
they were welcomed to a sad scene. On a huge 
oaken table, in the midst of the great hall, lay the 
dead body of poor Hugh, surrounded by his weep- 
ing friends. As the three entered, the caoine , or 
death-song, was about to commence; so they sat 
down, according to custom, upon seats provided for 
them by one of the domestics, and, without a word, 
listened to the wild and heart-piercing song. A 
beautiful young girl, with her long black hair 
streaming in wild disorder over her shoulders, stood 
at the head, and began the lament ; in the distress- 
fully plaintive burthen of which she was joined by 
all the females in the room. The song went on 
somewhat like the following, slowly and mourn- 
fully:— 

“ The woods of Drumlory 
Are greenest and fairest, 

And flowers in gay glory 
Bloom there of the rarest : 


160 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


They’ll deck without number 
A red grave and narrow, 

Where he’ll sleep his last slumber. 
Young Hugh of Glenurra ! 

The canavaun’s blooming 
Like snow on the marish, 

The autumn is coming, 

The summer flowers perish ; 

And, though love smiles all gladness. 
He’s left me in sorrow, 

To mourn in my madness, 

Young Hugh of Glenurra ! 

Sweet love filled forever 
His kind words and glances ; 

Light foot there was never 
Like his in the dances, 

By forest or fountain, 

In goal on the curragh, 

Or chase on the mountain, 

Young Hugh of Glenurra ! 

When cannons did rattle. 

And trumpets brayed loudly, 

In the grim van of battle 

His long plume waved proudly : 

As the bolts from the bowmen, 

Or share through the furrow. 

He tore through the foemen, 

Young Hugh of Glenurra ! 

Alas ! when we parted 
That morn in the hollow. 

Why staid I faint-hearted ? 

Why ne’er did I follow, 


THE HOUSE OF LISULOOM. 


161 


To fight by his side there, 

The red battle thorough, 

And die when he died there J 
Young Hugh of Glenurra ! 

Ah, woe is me ! woe is me ! 

Love cannot wake him : 

Woe is me ! woe Ts me ! 

Grief cannot make him 
Quit, to embrace me, 

This red couch of sorrow. 

Where soon they shall place me 
By Hugh of Glenurra.” 

“It is Marion Creagh, the betrothed wife of poor 
Hugh,” whispered O’Hogan, as he directed Sarsfield’s 
attention to the young girl who had sung the 
lament. “ But here comes Hugh’s father, Owen 
O’Ryan, to welcome us. God help him ! he has a 
sad welcome on his war-worn face. We shall now 
learn all about the death of my poor lieutenant.” 


CHAPTER III. 

IN WHICH EDMOND OFTHE HILL APPEARS UPON THE SCENE, 
AND CUS RUSSID AGAIN BRINGS NEWS OF ELLIE CONNELL ; 
SHOWING ALSO HOW 8ARSFIELD AND THE RAPPAREE CAP- 
TAINS MARCH TO MEET THEIR FOES AT THE BRIDGE OF 
TERN. • 

Owen O’Ryan, the father of the young Rapparee 
officer who lay stark upon the table, was a man of 

about fourscore years of age, somewhat low of 

11 


162 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


stature, with a white beard descending upon a chest 
of unusual prominence, and with a pair of shoulders 
so broad that they almost seemed to fill up the 
doorway through which he now issued to welcome 
O’Hogan and his companions. Age seemed to have 
little other effect upon the old gentleman than that 
of thinning his features, and giving a clearer outline 
to the long aquiline nose that projected between his 
sharp gray eyes ; for his figure was still as brawny 
and erect as when, nearly fifty years before, he had 
donned morion and back-and-breast as a captain of 
horse under the Kilkenny Confederation. He had 
been too much accustomed all his life long to scenes 
of blood and sorrow to be much affected, at least 
externally, even by the death of his last and young- 
est son ; yet as he grasped O’Hogan’s hand with a 
silent greeting, and glanced at the woful figure upon 
the table, there was a tear in his eloquent eye, and 
a twitch upon his wrinkled face, that told the work- 
ing of the brave but troubled soul within. 

“ I would,” he said, still keeping O’Hogan’s hand 
in his, “that I could give you other greeting than 
this. But war is always the same. It has long 
been sapping the foundations of my house, and now 
it has taken my last son.” 

“He died the death of a brave man, however, like 
his brothers before him,” said O’Hogan, his heart 
swelling and his eyes also glistening at sight of the 
old soldier’s trouble. 

“Yes,” rejoined the latter, “he died at least in har- 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


163 


ness. This morning at rise of sun he rode forth at 
the head of the men of Coonagh, to lie in wait for 
a troop of cavalry who began yesterday pillaging 
the country, and who then carried their booty last 
night to the House of Lisbloom.” 

“ It must be the same party that our messenger 
told us of,” said O’Hogan. “I knew they would not 
go to garrison Black Gideon’s house without spilling 
some blood upon the way, and having a little pillage 
to keep their hands in practice. But we will settle 
accounts with them ere long.” 

“ It was for that purpose my son went forth,” con- 
tinued the old man, “ and, had he only lived to meet 
them, they would scarcely have returned to Lis- 
bloom. But, alas! as he crossed the Bridge of Tern, 
and just caught sight of the English cavalry coming 
out into the plain to commence their day of blood, 
a single carbine-shot from the wood hard by struck 
him through the heart, and there he lies.” And he 
pointed sternly to the table. “Yes, there he lies; 
and there be who say that it was the man you men- 
tioned but just now who fired the shot, — Black 
Gideon Grimes.” 

“A curse upon the hand that fired it: it was a 
base and coward shot,” said Tibbot. 

“Young man,” returned the brawny patriarch of 
Glenurra, “ curse not, for words are idle and worth- 
less in times like this. One good sabre-cut on the 
crown, or slash across the breast or face, is worth ten 
thousand words in redressing a wrong.” 


164 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


“ In the method you favor,” said O’Hogan, “I can 
safely say Tibbot is not slack.” 

“ I know it,” answered the old man, “ and he will 
soon have opportunity enough for practising it ; for 
I’ve sent for my nephew, Eman na Cnuc,* whom I 
expect here momently with his men. Ha ! Marion,” 
he continued, his gray eyes flashing fiercely, as the 
young girl again commenced clasping her hands and 
moaning piteously at the head of the table, “ your 
loss will be well avenged ere many days are over.” 

“We have all an account to settle with the mur- 
derous dog whose shot laid poor Hugh low,” said 
O’Hogan ; and he related the news brought by Cus 
Russid, and the adventure that befell them in the 
chamber of the Gray Knight. He then introduced 
Sarsfield. 

The old soldier of Glenurra cast an admiring 
glance on the great cavalry general with whose 
name all Ireland was now ringing, took his hand 
with a clasp like that of a vice, and gave him a wel- 
come, sad enough indeed, but still cordial, to his 
castle. While engaged in the conversation that fol- 
lowed, a slight rustle was heard in the room ; and, on 
turning round, they beheld standing silently at the 
foot of the table, and gazing fixedly at the corpse, a 
figure that the old chief and the two Rapparee lead- 
ers knew well, but which at once struck Sarsfield as 
one of the most remarkable he had ever seen. 

There, erect as a spear-shaft, stood a young man, 

* Edmond of the Hill. 


THE HOUSE OF LI SB LOOM. 


165 


slightly above the middle height, with eyes black 
and piercing like those of an eagle, and a sun-era- 
browned face eminently beautiful in its contour and 
proportions. A bright morion, in the crown-spike 
of which was stuck a spray of heather with its pur- 
ple flowers all in bloom, defended his proud head; 
and from beneath it flowed down a mass of raven- 
black and shining hair upon a glittering steel corse- 
let, under which in its turn the skirts of a light 
green coat fell in graceful folds over the manly leg 
of its wearer. Over the corselet was flung a broad 
green leathern belt, from which depended a heavy 
cavalry sabre and a long skean or dagger, with the 
hilt of which latter the hand of its owner was play- 
ing nervously as he still stood gazing sorrowfully 
upon the pale face of the corpse. Such was Eman 
na Cnuc, or Edmond of the Hill, one of the noblest 
gentlemen and bravest of Rapparee captains that ever 
drew sword and shook bridle free in the cause of the 
worthless and weak-minded King James the Second. 

At Eman’s appearance in the hall, the caoine , or 
death-song, recommenced wilder, more vehemently, 
and more distressingly sorrowful than before, the 
women bending over the table with clasped hands 
and streaming eyes ; one of them, in the intervals 
between each portion of the heart-breaking cry, re- 
lating, in a voluble and mournful recitative in her 
native tongue, the virtues and various gallant ac- 
tions of the dead youth, dwelling particularly on 
those done in companionship with his dauntless 


166 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


cousin, Edmond of the Hill. A number of men 
now filled the hall, each of whom wore a sharp iron 
spur upon his heel ; and, whether he carried a light 
green cap or iron pott* upon his head, having a sprig 
of blossomed mountain heather waving jauntily in 
its crown, — a badge by which they were known 
through the wide country round as followers of 
their bold captain, Eman ; just as the men who acted 
under the command of Galloping O’Hogan were 
recognized by their plumes of green waving fern. 
Several of these immediately joined in the cry ; and 
so contagious did their grief become that Sarsfield 
was at last glad to retire beyond the immediate 
sphere of its influence into an inner room of the 
castle, where, with the aged, but still warlike Owen, 
with Edmond of the Hill, and the others, he sat 
consulting on the best and speediest method of set- 
tling accounts with Gideon Grimes and the blood- 
thirsty troopers who now garrisoned the redoubt- 
able stronghold of Lisbloom. 

People from all parts of the surrounding country 
were still crowding into and around the Castle of 
Glenurra, although it was nearly midnight, when Cus 
Russid, completely worn out as if from a hard day’s 
work, glided into the room in which Sarsfield and the 
Rapparee leaders were holding their council of war, 
and stood before Tibbot Burke. 

“Well,” said the latter, “I hope you have no 
worse news to tell us.” 

* Pott, — the helmet worn by the common cavalry men of the time. 


TJIE HOUSE OF LISE LOOM. 


1G7 


“Indeed, then, sir, be ray sowl ! I have, — the Lord 
pardon me for swearin’ before your lordship ! ” an- 
swered Cus, addressing the latter portion of his 
sentence to Sarsfield. 

“What is it, my man?” asked the latter. “Me- 
thinks it cannot prove much worse than every thing 
happening around us.” 

“ This is it, my lord,” answered Cus ; “ an’ you, 
Captin O’Hogan, an’ you, Edmond o’ the Hill, an’ 
all o’ ye consarned, ought to mind it well. When I 
stuck my skean into the ribs o’ the first man that 
overtook me undher the ground by Lios na Cummer , 
an’ then got out into the free air o’ the wood, an’ put 
three good glens bethune my carkiss an’ the pisthol o’ 
Gideon Grimes, says I to myself, ‘Be the hole o’ 
my coat, an’ be the blessed stone of Imly ! Cus 
Russid, but you’re no man, but a mane sprissaun, if 
you don’t whip off to Lisbloom to see how matthers 
are carryin’ on there. I did so, hop at the venthure! 
my lord, an’ found that, instead o’ one throop o’ 
dhragoons an’ a cannon, that there were two throops 
there, and two companies of infanthry, together 
with Black Gideon’s men, to defind the house an’ 
pass. I heerd all this from one o’ the workmen, — 
a man I know, that came into the wood when I 
whistled for him, — be the same token, the signil 
bethune him an’ me was the whistle of a hawk 
questin.’ The other throop an’ the companies of 
infanthry were sent there to furrige the counthry, — 
bad luck to them ! ” 


168 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


“ I fear me,” said Sarsfield, with a grave face, turn- 
ing to the others, “ that it will be now impossible 
for you to take this strong house, and to come at 
your man. Oh ! if I had but one troop of my Lu- 
can horse to aid us, we would make short work of 
them.” 

“Not altogether impossible, my lord,” answered 
Edmond of the Hill. “Outside in the wood I have 
two hundred men, half of them foot, and well armed 
with pike and gun; half of them light horsemen, 
who will follow me to the death. My uncle of 
Glenurra can bring, at least, fifty more horse and 
foot at his back ; and O’Hogan can have his men 
drawn down from the mountains by to-morrow. 
To-morrow, then, as sure as there are stout hearts 
in our bosoms, we will wreak vengeance sure and 
swift upon Black Gideon and his accursed house.” 

“Be it so,” said O’Hogan with a grim smile. 
“You, Tibbot, take horse and away to the moun- 
tains. Have our lads of the fern sprigs here by to- 
morrow ; and, by the blood of my body ! if we do 
not cut up the Sassenach rascals, root and branch, 
or burn the. House of Lisbloom over their heads, 
my name is not Galloping O’Hogan. Go on, Cus.” 

“ You may be sure,” continued Cus Russid, with 
a knowing wink, and a significant wave of his hand 
towards the western point of the compass, “ afther 
the way I th rated the Sassenach cap tin over there, 
an’ served the dhragoon with my pike, when I made 
bould to take his horse, you may be sure an’ 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


169 


sartin that I didn’t like to show ray nose in Lisbloom 
by daylight. I waited in the wood till nightfall, an’ 
then crep in over ditch an’ bethune the pallysadoes, 
just for all the worldt like a weasel, for the devil 
resave the morsel o’ me the senthries could aither 
see or hear, although at ' one time I could have 
tickled one o’ their shins with my skean. I crep 
an’ crep till at last I landed myself safe an’ sound 
among the weeds right undhernathe the window o’ 
the room where Ellie Connell was confined. I wasn’t 
long there till I heerd high words inside, an’ Black 
Gideon spakin’. 

“ ‘ He is dead,’ said he. 

“‘ Who ?’ said Ellie, houldin’ her breath, the poor 
crathur, as if she was on the point o’ dyin’. 

“‘Tibbot Burke is dead,’ answered my bowld 
Gideon. 

“ 4 Tibbot Burke dead ! ’ said Ellie with a great 
cry ; an’ then I heerd nothin’ but her moans for a 
long fvvhile. 

“‘Yes:’ says my cute fox again, ‘an’ now you are 
free to have a betther man.’ 

“‘The end of it was,” concluded Cus, with a com- 
prehensive glance to his auditors, “ that, as far forth 
as I could judge, Black Gideon shook his dagger in 
the face o’ poor Ellie Connell, an’ gave her two 
days to consider, an’ if at the end o’ that time she 
didn’t consint to let ould Habakuk Thrumpet-the- 
Word, the ould Tackum pracher he keeps in Lis- 
bloom, — bad luck to the same Habakuk, body an’ 


170 


THE HOUSE OF L1SBLOOM. 


bones an’ sowl, this blessed night! — to marry them 
both on the spot, if you plaise, he’d hack her poor 
heart into pieces not half the size of a thrish’s ancle.” 

“ This Gideon must be as active in wickedness as 
the evil demon himself,” said Sarsfield. 

“ He is,” said O’Hogan ; “ but his course is now 
mn.” 

“Yes,” said the old chief of Glenurra: “we will 
catch him oji the hip to-morrow. Even as I now 
stand on the brink of the grave, aged and worn, I, 
even I, will don my harness to have one good blow 
at the murdering dog and the rieving villains who 
garrison his stronghold. The last of my sons lies 
stark and stiff beneath his ruffian bullet ; but poor 
Hugh, at least, shall be well avenged.” 

Some short time after the arrival of Cus Russid, 
a number of women had crowded in from the neigh- 
boring hamlets; and, as the chiefs inside listened 
to the important narration of the brown messenger, 

* the caoine , far more thrilling and loud than ever, 
broke upon their ears at intervals from the great 
hall outside. Amongst these new-comers, who, as 
each batch arrived, raised the death-song in their 
turn over the body of the aged chieftain’s son, was 
one figure, far taller than any of those with whom 
she entered, who now sat herself down, enveloped 
in a huge gray mantle, the hood thrown over and 
carefully concealing her face, in a dark corner of the 
hall, near the door. As Tibbot Burke went out to 
get his horse, in order to execute the command of 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


171 


his captain, this mysterious figure stood up without 
a word, and glided close upon his track into the 
great yard or bawn, and thence out by the woodside, 
where Tibbot had left his horse tied to a tree. It 
glided now behind and under the black shadows of 
the branches. Tibbot was preparing to mofmt, when 
he was arrested by the figure, drawing the hood more 
closely over its features, and then, for the first time, 
speaking. 

“ Ha ! ” it said in a coarse, yet well-feigned voice, 
like that of a woman : “ you are mounting, Tibbot 
Burke, for the battle, just as Hugh of Glenurra 
mounted his steed this morning. Ere to-morrow 
morning is over, where shall you be ?” 

“In my saddle, I suppose,” answered Tibbot, 
quietly, “with my sword in my hand, shearing 
through the head-pieces of the rascals who are to 
come out from Lisbloom to-morrow, to rob, pillage, 
and slay my poor countrymen ! ” 

“Ho,” returned the other, “but under the gory 
horse-hoofs of those rascals, as you call profanely 
the soldiers of the brave and victorious King Wil- 
liam. Ho: stark and bloody you shall lie, as he 
inside lies beneath the godly bullet of a true man.” 

“ It is false,” retorted Tibbot : “ I tell you I shall 
slay to-morrow the miscreant and coward murderer 
whose assassin bullet laid my comrade low. Gid- 
eon Grimes,” continued he, apostrophizing one whom 
he thought at the moment far away, “ when we meet 
on the morrow, take your last look at the sun ; for, 


172 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


as sure as that sun shines, I shall slay you or die.” 
And he ground his teeth at the thought. “Were 
you other than what you seem, — a woman,” he 
rejoined, turning to the figure, “1 would send your 
head dancing over the sward with a slash of my 
sabre, for*speaking thus.” 

“I am what I am,” returned the figure, oracu- 
larly, and with a change of voice that made Tibbot 
start ; “ and that you will find by Tern’s Bridge to- 
morrow; for it is there, I have heard, you mean to 
attack us.” 

“ Ha, ha, black ruffian ! and so we are met at 
last,” exclaimed Tibbot, springing, skean in hand, 
upon Gideon ; for in that disguise the ubiquitous 
undertaker had come as a spy into Glenurra. In 
an instant the gray mantle was in the grasp of the 
young Rapparee lieutenant ; but, with as quick an 
action, the undertaker slipped from its folds, raised 
his dagger in air, and struck his antagonist a blow 
on the chest that sent him staggering a few paces 
backward with the empty garment in his hand. It 
was well for Tibbot that he wore a good steel jack 
that night, else the long blade of the undertaker had 
dealt him a fatal blow. Recovering himself in a 
moment, however, he again sprang vengefully for- 
ward, but found only empty darkness. Gideon was 
gone; but his hissing voice sounded once more from 
between the ghostly trunks of the dark trees in the 
wood : — 

“ Ha, ha ! ” he said : “ you will come to your doom, 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOQM . 173 

base dogs, to-morrow, at the Bridge of Tern, when 
we go forth to bring in forage for the army of the 
brave Ginkell.” 

Tibbot, knowing that pursuit was useless in the 
darkness, sprang upon his horse, and dashed away 
down a valley that led towards the mountains, amid 
the summits of which were encamped the horsemen 
belonging to Galloping O’Hogan. 

At length the morning dawned, and the wail of 
the caoiners was hushed in the sorrowful castle of 
Glenurra. All were asleep in and around the castle, 
save those who stood sentinel outside, and those 
who watched over the dead in the hall. Suddenly, 
from the wood outside, a trumpet sent its shrill 
reveille echoing through the silent chambers. The 
slumberers awoke, looked to their arms, and in an 
instant there was a loud hubbub and hurrying to 
and fro in the castle. The men hastened out to 
rejoin their leaders; while the women, gathering 
round the corpse, clapped their hands together, and 
with wild shrieks raised the death-song once more, 
calling upon their departing relatives to wreak ven- 
geance, sure and swift, upon the murderer of their 
aged chieftain’s son. 

Sarsfield and O’Hogan also awoke ; and, choosing 
their arms from the plentiful collection that hung 
around the walls, went out, mounted their horses, 
and sought the wood from which the trumpet-note 
proceeded ; and there, in a broad green glade, they 
found the fiery Edmond of the Hill and his veteran 


174 


THE HOUSE OF LI SB LOOM. 


uncle, marshalling their men for battle. Messengers 
had been sent out during the night to the friends of 
Owen ; so that the little Rapparee army was now 
augmented considerably, amounting to about one 
hundred and fifty horse, and as many foot. The 
latter were armed, half with long pikes, half with 
muskets, each having a long skean dangling at his 
belt ; and the bright eyes of Sarsfield, scanning the 
ranks of the former, flashed approvingly, as he 
noted their brown, hardy faces and well-knit frames, 
while they sat their small, but burly horses, sword 
in hand, and in two long lines, awaiting the com- 
mand of their leader. 

“ My lord,” said Edmond of the Hill, as Sarsfield 
came up, “ you have the best right to command 
here. Will you lead us for once? and I trust we 
shall show you ere leaving that the poor Rapparees 
can strike as hard as the men of the regular army.” 

“ You will excuse me, young sir,” returned Sars- 
field courteously, “ but methinks the command more 
befits you at the present, seeing that you are accus- 
tomed to the evolutions of these brave lads. There- 
fore I will serve as a volunteer under your orders 
to-day, and hope at the same time to do my devoir, 
like a man, with the rest.” 

“Well, my lord, I suppose it must be so,” said 
Edmond of the Hill; “but, as I must thus command 
the whole, O’Hogan here will lead the horse, seeing 
that his own have not come in yet. When they do, 
Tibbot knows how to fall on with them like a man.” 


THE HOUSE OF LIS BLOOM. 


175 


To this O’llogan assented. “My uncle here will 
keep by your side, my lord,” continued the young 
Rapparee leader ; “ and, if he can get one good sword- 
slash at the crown of Gideon Grimes, why, in God’s 
name! let him have that comfort before he dies. We 
must now away.” His words of command rang 
along the line, and in a few moments the whole 
body was marching at a steady pace through the 
valley that led towards the foot of the far-off range 
of mountains. 

After putting about a dozen miles between them- 
selves and Glenurra, they arrived upon the verge of a 
bosky moorland, through which the Mulkern wound 
northward in many a shining sinuosity, overshad- 
owed here and there by clumps of venerable ash- 
trees, that gave a peculiarly sylvan and picturesque 
aspect to its low, swampy shores. Out upon the 
other verge of this broad moorland the high peak of 
Comailte, the brawny giant that rears its shaggy 
head to the heavens in the van of the solitary range 
of Sliav Bloom, sent forward -its rugged spurs, be- 
decked with many a clump of green holly or moun- 
tain ash, or shining all over with the blooms of the 
purple heather ; and between these spurs, or hillocks, 
many a brawling rivulet shot down with its ever- 
murmuring soug, and with its tiny waves glistening 
like silver in the golden sun of that pleasant autumn 
morning. From the spot on which they now halted, 
a broad bridle-path led through the centre of the 
moorland, and over a bend of the Mulkern by a 


17G 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


two-arched bridge, so narrow that three horsemen 
could scarcely ride abreast over its rugged cause- 
way. This latter was the Bridge of Tern, beside 
which poor Hugh of Glenurra had fallen on the pre- 
vious day beneath the carbine of Black Gideon 
Grimes. 

“ Are the foragers from Lisbloom to cross this 
bridge ? ” asked Sarsfield, as his eye roved over and 
around the rude and ancient structure with a scruti- 
nizing and keen glance. 

“ It is the only pass they have to the plain south- 
ward,” answered Edmond of the Hill ; “ and we mean 
to wait for their coming in the wood at this side 
' of it.” 

“I must certainly commend your judgment in the 
choice of a position,” returned Sarsfield: “for the 
little plain between the wood and the bridge is a 
good spot for our horsemen to charge them when 
they are half over ; and see, by my good faith as a 
soldier ! at the very bridge the river takes a bend 
towards us, where our infantry can rake their flanks 
as they cross.” 

Again the little army moved on, and took up its 
position in the following manner : The horsemen, 
after forming in line in the wood in front of the 
river, dismounted, and concealed themselves under 
the trees, ready to mount again and charge at the 
word of their commander; while those of the in- 
fantry that carried muskets crouched down under 
shelter of the copses that clad the banks on each of 


THE HOUSE OF LI SB LOOM. 


177 


the hither sides. The pikemen stood in a body- 
under cover of the wood, on the flank of the horse- 
men ; and thus they all awaited, with stern faces and 
vengeful hearts, the coming of their foe. 

They had not long to wait. Before half an hour 
was over, they beheld the glint of weapons and 
armor in a winding valley that led down from the 
Pass of Lisblooin ; and at length the main part of 
the garrison of that important stronghold emerged 
upon the far verge of the moorland, and took its 
way over the bridle-path that led towards the Bridge 
of Tern. 


CHAPTER IY. 

CONTAINING, ALONG WITH THE END OP THE STORY, THE 
BATTLE AT THE BRIDGE OF TERN J THE DEATH OF 
GIDEON GRIMES, AND RECOVERY OF ELLIE CONNELL ; 
WITH THE TAKING OF THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM BY THE 
RAPPAREES. 

“Were it not for my uncle, who insists upon 
avenging himself upon the very spot where Hugh 
was murdered, I would let them pass the bridge,” 
whispered Edmond of the Hill to Sarsfield, as he 
saw the bright accoutrements of the enemy flashing 
in the sun: “I would let them pass, and then 
attack the House of Lisbloom in their absence.” 

“ It would be the wisest course,” answered Sars- 


12 


178 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


field ; “ but, now that we will soon have them face 
to face, we must do as best we may. And a tough 
morning’s work we have before us,” he continued, 
peering warily out between the trees ; “ for, by Our 
Lady ! they outnumber us considerably. See ! our 
force only equals that of theirs in uniform. But 
look at that dark body of men in the centre, with the 
tall, lank horseman at its head. Who may that be ? ” 

“ It is Gideon Grimes, my lord,” answered Owen 
of Glenurra, in a deep voice, like the growl of a 
crouching lion. 

“ It is Black Gideon himself,” said Edmond of the 
Hill. “ O’Hogan,” continued he in a fierce whisper, 
“ pass the word to have the men lie close till they 
get the signal to mount and charge. I will blow 
the charge on my whistle when the time comes.” 
And he held out a beautifully-chased silver whistle, 
that hung by a small chain from a ring in his belt. 

O’Hogan crept in front of the line, executed the 
order of the young commander, and then returned. 

“ Ha ! ” exclaimed he, on looking forward again, 
“here comes their vanguard clattering over the 
bridge. at last. I hope our men under the copses 
yonder will not be tempted to fire at them as they 
pass.” 

“ My two foster-brothers, Theige Keal and Pha- 
drig Garv, will see to that,” answered Eman na 
Cnuc. “ They command, one above and the other 
below the bridge, with strict orders not to pull a 
trigger till they hear my whistle.” 


THE HOUSE OF JASBLOOM. 


179 


The main body of the enemy was at last some- 
what more than half over the bridge, the men 
bandying joke and jibe at the timidity of the poor 
Rapparees, whom they expected to find and cut to 
pieces on the spot; yet whose apparent absence not 
a little relieved their minds, however. The half-a- 
dozen men of the vanguard seemed in an unusually 
hilarious humor; for, as they leisurely approached 
the wood, they chaunted at the top of their bent 
the chorus of a delectable and popular Williamite 
ballad of the day, the verses of which were intoned 
in a rattling, jolly, and stentorian voice by the fat 
Yorkshire corporal who led them : — 

“ Oeh, be my sowl ! but we’ve got de Talbote, 

Lillabulero bullena la ! 

And our skeans we’ll make good at de Englishman’s throat, 
Lillabulero bullena la ! ” 

“ Yerra, then, be my sowl ! if you were the father 
o’ lies himself, but that’s thrue for you anyhow, you 
red-nosed robber!” muttered Cus Russid to him- 
self from a thicket about sixty yards in front of the 
corporal. “Hi, hi! I could split my sides wid 
laughin’ at the way we’ll carry out yeer song, an’ 
slit yeer windpipes, afore an hour is over.” 

“ Ah ! ” sighed Sarsfield, as he too listened, “ had 
both the subjects of that ballad, King James and 
Talbot, never set foot in Ireland, we would have 
managed our campaigns to some purpose.” 

“ It is but too true, my lord,” whispered O’Hogan 


180 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


in return. “ Had you been allowed by the king to 
charge with your Lucan horse at the Boyne, that 
disastrous day might have ended differently.” 

“Yes; and all subsequent affairs as a conse- 
quence,” said Sarsfield. 

Still the song went on, the chorus of each verse 
being now taken up by many of the men filing over 
the bridge : — 

u Dere was an ould prophecy found in a bog, 

Lillabulero bullena la ! 

Dat Ireland should be ruled by an ass and a dog ; 
Lillabulero bullena la ! 

And now dis ould prophecy is come to pass, 

Lillabulero bullena la! 

For Talbote’s de dog and James is de ” — 

“ Ass,” he would have said ; but at that moment 
the shrill note from the whistle of Edmond of the 
Hill rang over the moorland, and at the self-same 
instant also the half-pike of Cus Russid came 
whizzing from the thicket; and, as the unfortunate 
corporal was in the act of opening his capacious 
mouth to pronounce with thundering effect this last 
word of the verse, the weapon entered between his 
teeth, literally transpiercing his neck. With a hor- 
rible groan he fell from his frightened horse upon 
the stony bridle-way. 

The first voice that broke the terrible pause that 
succeeded was that of Cus Russid, as he darted 
recklessly out from the thicket, and tore the sword 
from the hand of the dying corporal. 


THE HOUSE OF LI SB LOOM. 


181 


“ Hi, hi, hi ! ” he laughed, whirling the flashing 
weapon around his head — “ha, ha! Dhar Yurrhia! 
but you’re a man in airnest, Cus, to dhraw the first 
blood on a day like this.” 

The next was that of Phadrig Gary, or Patrick 
the Rough, the foster-brother of Edmond of the 
Hill. Phadrig was a man of nearly seven good 
feet in height, and even disproportionably stout 
and brawny into the bargain. His tremendous voice 
rang over the moorland like that of a mountain bull, 
as he ordered his men to fire on the exposed flank 
of the enemy. 

The third was that of Edmond of the Hill him- 
self, as he gave the word for the horsemen to mount 
and charge, and the pikemen to rush out from their 
ambush and fall on. Then came the shouts of the 
English captains, as they ordered their men to 
deploy into line, and stand the shock of the venge- 
ful Rapparees. 

For a short time the enemy seemed to waver as 
they beheld the well-arranged lines of Irish horse 
and pikemen emerge from the wood, and heard their 
terrible battle-cry ringing over the sombre moor. 
But it was only for a moment; for, just as they 
commenced to turn their beards over their shoulders, 
as the Spanish saying goes, and look behind, Black 
Gideon Grimes and his compeers, with their men, 
came steadily forward upon their right in a well- 
formed line, the appearance of which had the effect 
of re-assuring the English troopers. But a con- 


182 


THE HOUSE OF LIS BLOOM. 


tinuous line all along their front, they got no time to 
form; for in an instant, with a ringing cheer that 
rose high over the rattle of musketry and the clash 
of swords, the Rapparees were upon them, with a 
shock like a peal of crashing thunder. Then com- 
menced one of those struggles, sharp, deadly, and 
decisive, that always ensues when the antagonists 
on both sides are men of strength and mettle. 

The English, both horse and foot, were good and 
steady soldiers; and their auxiliaries, the undertakers, 
were not a whit behind them in valor. These men, 
descended from the veteran soldiers of Cromwell’s 
armies, still nourished in their bosoms the fatalism 
of their Roundhead fathers ; and believing that the 
hour of their death was predetermined from that of 
their birth, and consequently that none could die 
then and there unless their inexorable fate willed it, 
inheriting also a mad contempt for their Irish 
opponents and a hatred of the latter amounting to 
frenzy, they now stood their ground, and met the 
gallant charge of the Rapparees with a coolness 
and spirit worthy of a better cause. But, notwith- 
standing all this, the enemy began gradually falling 
back, till their whole line, with both flanks drawn 
in, appeared, with the gaps made here and there in 
it, like a torn tete dupont , or half-moon, in front of 
the bridge. Round the outside of this grim semi- 
circle, the Rapparees, both footmen and horsemen, 
were now raging like so many demons. 

At length the whole line suddenly gave way, and, 


THE HOUSE OF L1SBL00M. 


183 


horse and foot, mingled pell-mell, endeavored to 
make their escape over the bridge, the approach 
to which was soon strewn with their corpses ; for the 
victorious Rapparees, with vengeful weapons and 
stout arms, pushed them close behind, cutting them 
mercilessly down as they fled. 

“ Blood for blood ! ” roared Phadrig Garv, as he 
rushed sword in hand amidst the confused throng. 

“Remember Hugh of Glenurra!” shouted Ed- 
mond of the Hill, as he clove a dragoon’s skull, 
through morion and all, to the very chin. 

“ Give them a touch of Limerick breach, my brave 
lads,” exclaimed Sarsfield, rattling up the causeway 
and overturning every thing in his way. 

“Yes, and a taste of Ballineety,” laughed 
O’Hogan, as he slashed the bridle-hand from the 
arm of one of Black Gideon’s comrades. 

“Vengeance, vengeance for my son!” yelled 
old Owen of Glenurra, as he, too, went cutting right 
and left into the fierce melee . “Vengeance for my 
son ! Glenurra ! Glenurra, for ever ! and down with 
the Pagan Roundhead dogs ! ” and the cry was 
caught up and echoed long and loud by his wild 
Rapparee followers, as they now swept their enemies, 
like chaff, over the gory archway of the bridge. 

The English at length succeeded in getting over 
the bridge ; and the Irish were crowding the slippery 
causeway in order to pursue them at the opposite 
side, when an unexpected messenger stopped them 
in their mid career. This was nothing less than a 


184 


THE HOUSE OF LI SB LOOM. 


heavy iron round shot from the large brass cannon 
so much admired by Cus Russid a couple of days 
before. The enemy had concealed it as they 
marched across the moorland, expecting to meet 
the Rapparees openly at the bridge ; and now, after 
escaping over the archway, they suddenly divided 
right and left, thus leaving a space through which 
the round shot came ricochetting along the bridle- 
path, and ploughing through the thick throng of 
the advancing Irish. The delay occasioned by this 
unexpected visitor gave time to the enemy to form 
their broken ranks once more at the other side of 
the bridge. 

Both sides were now upon their guard ; and the 
battle dwindled down to an occasional shot from 
the cannon, and a rattle of musketry now and then 
from the skirmishers, who crept out on either shore 
of the Mulkern. It would probably have con- 
tinued at this low ebb until night separated the 
belligerents, were it not for a wild freak of Phadrig 
Garv, whose warlike spirit would not allow him to 
remain in inactivity so long, especially with his 
blood up, and the enemy almost within reach of his 
long arm. Mounted on a trooper’s horse he had 
taken in the beginning of the fray, he now rode 
over the bridge to the opposite side; and there, 
reining in his steed, politely invited the best man 
amongst the English troopers to come forth and 
meet him in single combat : — 

“For,?’ said he in his imperfect English, and in a 


THE HOUSE OF L1SBL00M. 


185 


voice that could he heard distinctly at the other 
side of the moor, “ f while our blood is hot, it is a 
morthial pity an’ a burnin’ shame to let it cool ; an’ 
hur own self will fight the best Suidhera Dheary * 
amongst ye for a silver skilling or a dhuch of 
Isgevaha f 

The stake he proposed for his tremendous game 
of hazard was so low and reasonable that the 
simple-minded Phadrig expected to have his prop- 
osition accepted immediately and on the spot. A 
long consultation followed, however, amongst the 
English, during which he several times reiterated 
his cartel. At last a trooper, somewhat like Pha- 
drig in stature, rode forth from the ranks of the 
enemy, and accepted his challenge. To it they went, 
stoutly and warily, encouraged by shouts from each 
side, — each party expecting its man to come off 
conqueror. The result of it was, however, that the 
gigantic Phadrig at length wheeled his horse round 
and made for the bridge, with his equally gigantic 
antagonist a prisoner stretched before him, beyond 
the bow of the saddle, like a sack of corn taken to 
market by a Kerryman. 

Seeing this, half-a-dozen English troopers spurred 
forward to rescue their comrade, while, at the same 
time, about the same number of Rapparee horse- 
men rode over the bridge to support Phadrig Garv. 
Once more it came to sword and pistol between 
them; and, both sides being joined by the main part 


* Red soldier. 


t A shilling, or a drink of whiskey. 


186 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


of their respective comrades and officers, a general 
and far more bloody fight than ever commenced at 
the further side of the bridge. The English, who 
considerably outnumbered the Rapparees, succeeded 
in driving the latter partly back over the archway ; 
and here, in one of those strange alternations which 
sometimes occur in the common course of life, but 
more frequently amid the shifting scenes and wild 
incidents of battle, Sarsfield, with Edmond of the 
Hill and his uncle respectively on his right hand, 
sat his horse at the keystone of the causeway con- 
fronting one of the English captains ; while, opposite 
his companions, with tightened reins and swords 
ready on the guard, rode another Williamite officer 
and Gideon Grimes, the eyes of the latter glaring 
with a look of immortal hate into the equally fierce 
orbs of the warlike patriarch of Glenurra. 

“ I have seen your face before,” said the English 
officer, eyeing Sarsfield keenly. 

“Probably,” answered the latter; “and, after 
this renewal of our acquaintance, I hope to make 
your memory of me more perfect. Guard yourself, 
sir.” 

The answer was a slash from the Englishman’s 
sabre, which would have taken Sarsfield across the 
forehead, had he not parried it dexterously. 

“By Our Lady!” exclaimed Sarsfield, pushing 
forward in the press so as to crush the Englishman’s 
horse tightly between his own charger and the worn 
parapet of the bridge, “ but you give a warm wel- 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


187 


come to an old acquaintance. However, here is to 
return it.” 

With that, after parrying another cut from his 
antagonist, he suddenly seized the latter by the 
bridle-hand, raised it, and plunged his sword deep 
under the armpit ; then, as he was in the act of 
withdrawing his weapon, the tottering parapet of 
the ancient bridge gave way, and the dying captain 
and his horse were precipitated along with the 
falling mass of masonry, with a loud splash, into 
the sullen and blood-stained waters of the stream 
below. Sarsfield’s horse stumbled over one of the 
displaced fragments, and # would probably have fol- 
lowed that of the ill-fated Englishman, had not the 
good rider who bestrode him tightened his rein, 
and driven the snorting animal in a flying leap over 
the remaining portion of the parapet in front, and 
down upon the boggy shore at the other side of the 
stream, where we will leave him slashing and parry- 
ing right and left in the thick and raging throng of 
combatants, amidst which he alighted. 

Meanwhile, Edmond of the Hill and the other 
English officer were not idle. Both were accom- 
plished and wary swordsmen; and the fight between 
them would have lasted for a considerable time, had 
not a stray bullet struck the horse of the former in 
the chest. The wounded animal, probably receiving 
the bullet through its heart, stumbled and fell 
heavily forward upon its knees; and the English 
officer, stooping over his saddle-bow, was about to 


188 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


cleave the head of Edmond of the Hill, when 
O’Hogan, riding by at the moment, struck up his 
sword, and then literally sheared his head in two 
with one slash of the four-foot blade he had taken 
that morning from Glenurra. In an instant, Ed- 
mond of the Hill was on his feet; and, springing 
into the empty saddle of his .late antagonist, the 
two Rapparee captains rattled side by side into the 
press in front, and left Black Gideon and old Owen 
O’Ryan to see it out upon the causeway. 

“ Ha ! ” exclaimed Gideon, glaring at Owen. “ Re- 
member the bloody field of Knocknanoss, old Rap- 
paree dog, where you and your leaders were stricken 
by the good swords of the Lord’s chosen warriors ; 
but where you, in your profane rage, lopped off the 
right hand of my father. You shall now die for 
that sore blow, as your Rapparee son died before 
you yesterday by this hand.” 

“Yes,” answered the aged soldier, “ I remember 
that field well, base murderer, and the cuckoldy old 
Roundhead drummer, your father. See ! this is the 
very sword I carried through that field of blood, and 
that slashed off your father’s hand, so that he could 
never more twirl drumstick and beat the charge to 
call the damned Cropears into battle.” 

Without another word, the two enemies closed ; 
and Black Gideon would probably have fared some- 
what worse than his father at the field of Knockna- 
noss, had not a round shot from the cannon struck 
the keystone of the bridge beneath the stamping 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


189 


hoofs of their horses. The rickety and timeworn 
arch fell in at the shock ; and down into the horrible 
chaos beneath went the two mortal foes, horses and 
all, the combatants around standing still for a mo- 
ment at the unwonted mishap, and then falling to 
once more, more vengefully than ever. There was 
a struggle.and then a lull beneath ; but in a few mo- 
ments Black Gideon bounded up the opposite bank, 
with his gory dagger in his hand, leaving the dead 
body of the brave old chieftain of Glenurra beneath 
the broken arch. 

Although the principal English officers had fallen, 
others of approved skill and bravery had taken their 
places ; and the battle would have gone sorely with 
the Irish, who were now all at the opposite side of 
the bridge, their right flank raked by the terrible 
brass cannon, were it not that at this opportune 
time Tibbot Burke came riding over the moorland 
to their aid, at the head of about fifty of the fierce 
horsemen belonging to O’Hogan. On they came, 
their green plumes of fern dancing blithely in the 
wind, and with a wild and vengeful war-cry fell 
with sword and pistol upon the flank of the enemy. 
A terrible rout ensued. The English infantry were 
now scattered and cut down ; and the horse, wheel- 
ing round, swept like a scattered torrent across the 
moor, and away over the rough country that lay be- 
tween them and the Pass of Lisbloom, the Rapparee 
cavalry behind them, sabring them in little groups 
here and there over slope and valley. 


190 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


Phadrig Garv, who wished to join in the pursuit, 
now found himself mightily impeded by his gigantic 
prisoner, whom he had contrived to keep before him 
on the saddle through the fray. Catching the bridle 
of a riderless steed that stood near, he bent his 
large, wild eyes compassionately on his captive : — 

“ Hur own self, ” said he, “was once a prisoner, an’ 
a good Sassenach released hur without eric or ran- 
som. Sassenach,” and he gave the burly form of 
the Englishman a tremendous shake, “take this 
horse and flee. It’ll never be said by foe or sthranger 
that Phadrig Garv MocRonan failed to repay a good 
an’ ginerous deed done to hur own four bones in the 
day of thrubble. ” 

With that, he helped his foe tenderly to th'e 
ground ; saw him mount and fly for his life down by 
the shore ; and then striking his ponderous foot upon 
the steaming flank of his own charger, with a 
relieved heart and contented mind, he set off with a 
hilarious roar upon the track of those that fled 
towards Lisbloom. 

One of the English gunners who had charge of 
the cannon was a brave fellow, and deserved a bet- 
ter fate. Seeing his comrades turn and flee, he 
limbered up the cannon in a moment, leaped upon 
the leading horse of the team that drew it, applied 
his whip, and was in the act of galloping away, 
when Cus Russid, who was gliding like a little demon 
everywhere over the field, presented a pistol, and 
shot him through the head. And thus Cus took 


THE HOUSE OF LISBLOOM. 


191 


upon himself the credit of capturing the cannon he 
so much admired. 

It was now about half an hour after the com- 
mencement of the pursuit, and Cus Russid and sev- 
eral of his companions were congregated around the 
gun, debating amongst themselves how to dispose of 
it, when a horseman came spurring back with an 
order from Edmond of the Hill to take it forward 
to Lisbloom, in order, if necessary, to batter down 
the defences of that stronghold. The triumphant 
Cus seated himself in a moment astride upon the 
breech of the gun, while some of his comrades 
mounted the horses ; and away they went, attended 
by a jubilant crowd of pikemen. How, Cus Russid, 
as the reader was made aware on his first introduc- 
tion to that lively individual, had a particular pen- 
chant for singing songs on every possible occasion. 
Deeming the present a more than usually favorable 
one for indulging his musical propensity, after kick- 
ing up his heels in the excess of his delight, and 
calling for attention from his noisy comrades, he 
rattled forth, in an exceedingly lively and merry 
strain, — 

“ THE PKODESTAN* GUN. 

“ There are threasures in Ireland as good as a throne. 

Mighty pleasant an’ fine, could we make them our own ; 

An’ this Prodestan* gun is a very fine thing 
Fwhen it fights for ould Ireland and Shemus the king. 

Yet to-day in the fray, be my sowl ! ’twas no joke, 

Fwhen its Prodestan* balls through the Rapparees broke ; 

But its race* nathc the sway o’ the Dutchman is run, 

For the Rapparees now own this Prodestan* gun ! 


192 


THE HOUSE OF LISDLOOM. 


Chorus, boys ! Fwhilst there’s life there’s hope, as 
the worm said in the stomach o’ the gamecock. 

Dum erlium di tay, dum erlium ri da, 

Dum erlium, fol edrium, dum murlium ri da ! 

Whist ! ’Tis time to stop yer windpipes, ye divvels. 
Here goes again, as the snowball said fwhen it hit 
Nancy Doornan in the nose. 

’Tis nate at the patthem to dance a moneen ; 

’Tis nate for to sit by a purty colleen ; 

’Tis sweet for to bask by a hedge at your aise, 

Fwhen the winds are all warm an’ the sun in a blaze ; 

There’s a plisure in strikin’ your innimy sore ; 

There’s a plisure in friendship an’ whiskey galore ; 

But the greatest o’ plisures that’s ondher the sun 
Is to turn to a Papish this Prodestan’ gun ! — 

Chorus ! chorus ! chorus ! as the wran said afore he 
cracked his windpipe. 

Dum erlium di tay, dum erlium ri da, 

Dum erlium, fol edrium, dum murlium ri da ! ” 

A burst of laughter hailed the termination of Cus 
Russid’s song; at which that facetious personage 
kicked up his heels upon the cannon again, and 
seemed mightily pleased. When they at length 
arrived at a turn in the pass that brought them in 
view of the stronghold of Lisbloom, a sight pre- 
sented itself before them that at once arrested their 
further progress. To explain it, it is necessary to go 
back half an hour or so. 


THE HOUSE OF LIS BLOOM. 


193 


When Black Gideon, who, with a dozen of his 
comrade undertakers and about thirty troopers, 
seemed to fly on the wings of the wind, reached his 
house and took shelter behind its fortifications, the 
Rapparees, headed by their leaders, were just enter- 
ing the opening gorge of the pass. Gideon, seeing 
that the place was no longer tenable against the vic- 
torious force of the Rapparees, told all whom he met, 
and those that entered with him, to shift for them- 
selves, and then rushed up a winding stair that led 
to the room in which Elbe Connell was confined. 
Bearing the fainting girl in his arms down the stairs 
and out into the bawn, he took a fresh horse, placed 
Elbe before him on the saddle, and, dashing out 
with the rest through the open gate, followed their 
course up the pass for a few moments, then turned 
aside, and swept obliquely across the breast of the 
hill, in order to gain the shortest track leading to 
Ginkell’s camp before Limerick. 

It was therefore that Cus Russid and his com- 
panions, as they halted, beheld the Rapparees pursu- 
ing the panic-stricken remnant of the garrison up 
towards the high outlet of the pass, and two horse- 
men riding, one in pursuit of the other, across the 
declivity of the hill. Cus recognized them in a 
moment. 

“Be the sowl o’ my father!” he exclaimed, “if it 
isn’t Black Gideon himself, with Elbe Connell afore 
him on the saddle ! An’ see, there is Tibbot 
Burke hot fut upon his thrack! That’s it, Tibbot!” 

13 


194 


THE HOUSE OF LIS BLOOM. 


he shouted. Don’t spare the spur till you come at 
him with the good soord or pishtol. Hurry, hurry, 
hurry ! for you have a fast rider and a desperate 
man to dale wid. Och ! they’ll be soon out of our 
sighth round the showldher o’ the hill.” 

“No,” said one of his comrades: “Tibbot is get- 
tin’ above him, an’ will make him turn down into 
the glin o’ Darren, fwhere we can see it all out be- 
thune them. Dhar, Dhia ! bud it’ll be grand.” 

“ Divvle a bit ! ” returned Cus : “ he’s too cute for 
that, boys. Look, look ! he’s goin’ to ride down 
the side o’ the Coum Dearg,” alluding to a deep 
scaur or glen that ran down the side of the hill ; 
“ an,’ if he get’s into it, the sbeep-thrack will take 
him out over the summit, bad luck to him on his 
journey 1 Hurry, Tibbot, hurry ! He’s facin’ it , an’ 
see how the hoofs of his horse sthrike fire from the 
flinty stones ! Hurry, hurry, Tibbot ! or Black Gid- 
eon will give you the slip. Ha ! honom-an-dhial, 
he’s down ! ” 

It was just as Cus Russid said. Gideon’s horse 
struck one of its fore hoofs against a stone, stumbled, 
and then fell forward ; Ellie Connell, luckily for her- 
self, dropping quietly olf upon the grass at the upper 
side; and Gideon, with a vain effort to recover 
himself, at length rolling over and over for a space 
down the hill. He was on his feet in an instant, 
however, and, drawing two pistols from his belt, 
stood prepared for Tibbot, who was now approach- 
ing at full speed. As the latter drew near, Gideon 


THE HOUSE OF LIS BLOOM. 


195 


suddenly turned with a diabolical and sinister leer 
upon his face, and discharged one of the pistols at 
Ellie as she still lay senseless upon the grassy slope. 
The ball ploughed up the earth within half a foot 
of her head, but did no harm. The other pistol he 
got no time to use ; for, as he wheeled round to take 
aim at his coming foe, the sword of Tibbot de- 
scended upon his neck, half severing the head from 
the quivering trunk. Thus, fell Black Gideon 
Grimes; and the last mortal sound that rang in his 
ears was an exultant yell from the gorge beneath of 
the poor peasants whom he had oppressed and plun- 
dered of the little left them by war and tyranny in 
their native glens. 

Ellie Connell soon recovered from her swoon ; and, 
by the time she was conducted to the bottom of the 
pass beneath, most of those engaged in the pursuit 
had returned. There Tibbot presented his future 
bride to Sarsfield, who, with a pleasant face, wished 
them many a happy day together, — a wish that 
was afterwards fulfilled. Sarsfield then bade them 
farewell ; and, with a mighty cheer that woke the 
echoes of the surrounding hills ringing after him, 
rode up the pass, accompanied by O’Hogan and his 
horsemen, who were to conduct him across the 
Shannon to Limerick, leaving Edmond of the Hill 
and his victprious Rapparees to occupy the doughty 
stronghold of Lisbloom for the service of King 
James the Second. 



The White Knights Present. 

A LEGEND OF A RD FINNAN 


I N’ the latter years of the reign of Elizabeth, there 
lived in the fortress of Ballindunney a chieftain 
who was known by the euphonious title of the Mul- 
loch Maol, or Maolmorrha MacS weeny. He was, 
about the time of the following events, over eighty 
years of age ; but the martial fire that animated his 
youth, for he had been a renowned warrior in his 
day, burned in his breast as brightly as ever. With 
his fourteen stalwart sons, seven at each side, and 
his retainers ranged in due order below them along 
the great hall of the castle, he still presided every 
evening at the feast : and almost in the same order 
he rode forth to battle ; for in those times there 
were battles to be had galore , — for love, for money, 
and even for nothing. At the same time there re- 
sided — one in his immediate neighborhood, and 
the other some distance to the west of his castle — 
two worthies of renown, who made it a settled thing 
never to be at peace with one another. The first 

196 


THE WHITE KNIGHT’S PliESENT. 


197 


of these was Shane vie an Earla, or the son of the 
ear], chief of Ardfinnan Castle; and the other, the re- 
doubtable Ridderah Fion, the White Knight, lord, 
of the Clingibbon country. Shane vie an Earla was, 
it seems to me, a wily and prudent man; but, in 
the language of the legend, he is said to have been 
an arrant coward, always at variance with the White 
Knight, but at the same time frightened by his 
threats, and applying invariably to the indomitable 
Mulloch Maol for help against his attacks. One 
sunny day in the beginning of autumn, as Shane 
was sitting on the rock of Ardfinnan, looking over 
the bright scenery of the Suir, he saw a sturdy but 
tattered-looking beggar-man coming down a little 
valley to the west, and approaching the ford which 
ran across the river near the castle. When he had 
gained the opposite end of the ford, he stood for a 
few moments looking cautiously around him ; then, 
taking his wallet in his hand, he cast it into the 
river, and, after pulling off his tattered cothamore , or 
large outside coat, stood as fine and brawny a speci- 
men of a young warrior as could be seen in those 
martial times. In a few moments more he had 
crossed the river, and was standing by the side of 
his chief, Shane vie an Earla. 

“ Yic an Earla,” he said, “ the men of the forest 
will be upon us by to-morrow’s sun. I heard the 
Ridderah Fion and his black friend, Diarmaid, say- 
ing so this morning at their gathering under the 
walls of Kilbeheny.” 


198 


THE WHITE KNIGHT'S PRESENT. 


Yic an Earla’s reply was interrupted by a loud 
knocking at the outer gate of the castle. On going 
to see what was the matter, to his great joy he be- 
held his friend Maolmorrha banging, as was his 
wont, with his sword-hilt for admittance at the gate. 
Maolmorrha, on hearing the story, could not repress 
his satisfaction at the prospect of an encounter with 
the Ridderah Fion and his men. 

“ Let him come,” said he, “ and perhaps he’ll not 
be so eager to come again. We have a castle, a 
rock, and a river on our side, and plenty of strong 
arms to defend them ; and, in my mind, if the devil 
came with as many champions as he could muster, 
we’d be able to make our stand good against him.” 

Great and hurried were the preparations at both 
castles that night; and before the dawn of morning 
the conjoint forces of Yic an Earla and Maolmorrha 
were mustered in battle array beneath and upon the 
walls of Ardfinnan, willing, if not able, to repel 
the onset of the Ridderah Fion and his followers. 

The first light of the morning beheld the Ridderah 
and his forces approaching the ford that led to the 
castle. The sight that met their eyes, however, a 
little damped their ardor. On a small space of rock 
that projected about a dozen feet above the river, the 
Mulloch Maol, in full armor, sat sword in hand, and 1 
motionless as a brazen statue, upon his white steed, 
his fourteen sons ranged, seven at each side, below 
him by the water’s edge, and all his vassals behind 
them, eager to cross the river and begin the battle. 


THE WHITE KNIGHT'S PRESENT. 


199 


The ramparts of the castle were lined by the men 
of Vic an Earla with their harquebusses in hand, 
ready to fire upon the enemy, should he attempt to 
cross the ford and attack them. Diarraaid, the Rid- 
derah’s sword-bearer, now advanced to the opposite 
end of the ford to hold a parley. 

“ Son of a strumpet,” he said, addressing Yic an 
Earla, who stood upon a turret above the Mulloch 
Maol, “ pay the eric for my brother’s head, or your 
own head and your castle and treasures shall be the 
fine when this day we open a passage to them with 
our battle-axes.” 

The Ridderah now rode down to the side of his 
sword-bearer. “Yes,” he exclaimed, “ pay -the eric 
for the life of the gallant Outlaw of the Gap, or be- 
fore another hour we’ll have a hundred lives for 
his, and our banner floating from your walls. And 
you, silly old man,” he continued, addressing the 
Mulloch Maol, “fitter were you at home teaching 
your fourteen clowns to till your ploughlands than 
standing there trying to stem the onset of a gallant 
knight fighting for his just demand.” 

The Mulloch Maol, who was a man of fiery tem- 
per and prompt action, maddened by the taunt of 
the Ridderah, turned to his sons and followers. 
“Follow me !” he shouted; and, suiting the action 
to the word, he sprang his war-horse from the rock 
into the river beneath, and, with his sons and re- 
tainers, stood in a short time upon the opposite 
bank. In a moment they were, sword in hand, upon 


200 


THE WHITE KNIGHT'S PRESENT. 


the enemy. In the midst of the contest, and when 
the besiegers were likely to have the worst of it, the 
Mulloch Maol singled out the Ridderah, and attack- 
ed him with as much agility as if he were in the 
prime of life. His sword missed its aim, but went 
sheer through the saddle, and lodged itself deep into 
the side of the Ridderah’s war-horse. The horse 
sprang into the air, and fell to the earth, bringing 
the Ridderah, in his heavy armor, down with a clang 
that gave the clearest intimation to his followers of 
what had befallen him. This was the turning-point 
in the fray ; for the Ridderah’s followers, with the 
exception of Diarmaid, fled, leaving him a prisoner 
in the h&nds of the Mulloch Maol. Great was his 
surprise, however, when the Mulloch, who made it a 
point always either to kill his prisoner or set him free 
altogether, told him that he was at liberty to depart 
to his forests, but that his life was spared to free the 
eric or fine for the life of Diamiaid’s brother, the 
Outlaw of the Gap. On second thought, too, the 
Mulloch, considering the Ridderah’s great renown 
as a warrior, invited him and his sword-bearer to a 
few days’ merry-making at his castle of Ballindunney. 
The Ridderah, though perhaps wishing himself back 
again safely in his castle, did not find it convenient 
to refuse ; so he accepted the invitation, and the 
merry-making went on gloriously for two days in 
the great hall of the Mulloch’s castle. At the end 
of the second day it was time for the Ridderah to 
depart. He had noticed that there was a great scar- 


THE WHITE KNIGHT 9 S PRESENT. 


201 


city of fuel at Ballindunney ; the servants having, in 
fact, to make fires of straw and brambles, for want 
of better, in consequence of the scantiness of wood 
in that neighborhood. As some recompense for all 
the kindness shown him, the Ridderah offered to 
send an ample supply of wood from his great forests 
to Ballindunney, which offer the Mulloch Maol, with 
his usual frankness,' gratefully accepted. 

Seven days after the departure of the Ridderah, 
the Mulloch’s youngest son descried from the watch- 
tower of the castle a long line of wagons, laden 
with the promised firewood, slowly approaching 
from the ford of Ardfinnan. On their arrival, they 
were unladen in the great bawn of the castle. Not- 
withstanding the abundant gratitude manifested by 
the Ridderah on leaving Ballindunney, and his broth- 
erly sincerity of words, the Mulloch Maol still sus- 
pected some treachery in this present of firewood. 
He examined each load, and found that, along with 
the timber being cut into logs of the requisite length 
for burning, some were a little blackened at the end, 
where, after the saw, they should be smooth and 
white. The wily old chieftain took one of these sus- 
picious-looking logs, and, examining it more closely, 
unperceived by the Ridderah’s men, found its heart 
scooped, and filled with a quantity of powder suffi- 
cient, on being thrown on the fire, almost to blow 
up his castle. The Mulloch pretended not to notice 
what he had discovered, and gave directions as 
usual that a plentiful dinner should be prepared for 


202 


THE WHITE KNIGHT'S PRESENT. 


the drivers of the wagons. By the time the din- 
ner was laid in the hall of the castle, the Mulloch’s 
men, by his directions, had made the logs of fire- 
wood into a great heap, with the harness of the 
Ridderah’s horses and the wagons placed on the 
top of them. When the drivers were seated at din- 
ner, among whom was Diarmaid in disguise, a war- 
rior was ordered to stand at the back of each man, 
with a battleaxe in his hand, and to strike off the 
head of whomsoever should stir from his seat. At 
about every five minutes during the dinner, these 
warriors went round and round the hall, shouting 
their chieftain’s war-cry, and striking the axes 
against their shields, altogether making a clamor 
which caused the poor drivers, in their terror, to 
imagine themselves sitting before their last dinner 
in this world. When dinner was over, they 
were ordered out into the bawn, and great was their 
surprise to see the logs in a blaze, with the wagons 
and harness upon them. When the flames had 
reached the logs containing the powder, which were 
placed about the middle of the pile, logs, harness, 
and wagons were blown up with a sound which the 
deceitful Ridderah could easily hear in his castle of 
Kilbeheny. The drivers were now directed to range 
themselves before the castle-gate ; and, by the Mul- 
loch’s commands, their horses were then brought 
from the stables and given back to them. 

“Dogs,” said the fiery old warrior, “is this the 
recompense your chieftain sends me for granting 


THE WHITE KNIGHT’S PRESENT. 


203 


him his life ? Ride and tell yonr master that, should 
he ever get into Maolmorrha MacSweeny’s hands 
again, his head shall pay the forfeit for his treach- 
ery ” 

The drivers, with Diarmaid at their head, needed 
no second injunction to depart; so away they went 
upon their horses, as if a legion of Mulloch Maols 
was in their track, till they reached their native for- 
ests by the Funcheon. Diarmaid told Maolmorrha’s 
message to his master ; but the Ridderah Fion, fear- 
ing some mishap like the former one, and setting a 
due value on his head, never more visited the castles 
of Ballindunney and Ardfinnan. 




THE FIRST AND LAST LORDS OF 
FERMOY. 

A LEGEND OF THE FUNCHEON. 


I T was a fine June morning in the year 1216 . 

The sun shone down merrily on river and shore, 
and gleamed brilliantly from the accoutrements of a 
herald, who, attended by two squires, was riding 
leisurely through the green forest towards the strong 
castle of Glanworth, in the county of Coi*k, at that 
time possessed by Sir William Flemming, Baron of 
Fermoy. This Sir William Flemming was one of 
those hardy Norman adventurers who came to Ire- 
land under Strongbow, Earl of Pembroke, and who, 
after fighting in many a hard battle against the na- 
tives, at last gained for himself the fair district of 
Fermoy, built in the centre of it the great castle of 
Glanworth, on the banks of the Funcheon, and there 
sat down to spend the remainder of his life in peace 
and in the enjoyment of his hard-won possessions. 

But perfect peace rarely falls to the lot of man. Sir 
William Flemming had an only child, his daughter 

204 


THE FIRST AND LAST LORDS OF FERMOY. 205 


Amy, celebrated both for her beauty and her good- 
ness, and whose hand soon became sought for in 
marriage by many of the powerful chiefs around. 
Amy Flemming, however, was as hard to be pleased 
in a husband as she was good and beautiful, and re- 
fused all their offers. Among her suitors was Sir 
William Cantoun, or Condon, a knight of Norman- 
Welsh descent, whose father had won for himself 
the barony of Condons, adjoining that of Fermoy. 
This Sir William resided in great state at the strong 
castle of Cloghlea, whose ruins may yet be seen 
standing on a high limestone rock above the Fun- 
cheon, a few miles from its junction with the noble 
Blackwater. It was from him that the herald and 
his two attendants were now approaching Sir 
William Flemming’s castle of Glanworth. A ford 
at this time crossed the river, where now rise the 
arches of the narrow and picturesque bridge, a short 
distance below the castle. Through this ford the her- 
ald and his two attendants dashed their horses mer- 
rily across ; and, approaching the principal gate, or 
barbacan, of the castle, demanded admittance in the 
name of their master, Sir William Cantoun. They 
were admitted with all the deference and courtesy 
accorded in those ehivalric days to a herald, and 
conducted into the great hall, where they requested 
an audience from Sir William Flemming. 

“ I come,” said the herald, as the stout old baron 
made his appearance, “ with two presents from my 
Lord of Cloghlea. This pearl chaplet lie bids me 


206 


THE FIRST AND LAST 


offer thy daughter, the Lady Amy, and demands 
through me her hand in marriage. In case she re- 
fuse his present and his offer, I am commissioned to 
offer thee this.” And he produced a steel gauntlet, 
which he laid before the Baron of Fermoy. 

“ To my daughter I leave the acceptance or re- 
jection of such gauds,” answered Sir William 
Flemming. “We will call her into thy presence, and 
see how she takes thy suit. Now,” continued he, 
as the fair Amy, attended by her maids, entered the 
hall, “ make thine offer again, and I will abide by 
her decision.” 

“Lady Amy,” said the herald, “my master, Sir 
William Cantoun, sends thee this fair chaplet, and 
asks thee to become Lady of Cloghlea and the green 
woods around it. What is thine answer? ” 

Amy looked for a moment at her father, but saw 
in his face no expression by which she could judge 
one way or the other of his sentiments. 

“ Take it back,” she said at length, as she drew 
up her fair and stately figure. “ The knight whose 
iron mace is ever raised oppressively over the heads 
of the poor peasantry, whose hand is red always 
with unjust blood, he shall be no husband of mine. 
Thou hast my answer.” And, with a haughty and 
indignant look at the herald, she withdrew with her 
maids. 

“ And now,” said Sir William Flemming, as his 
daughter left the hall, “ to me it is left to pay thee 
due courtesy. I accept this.” And he took up the 


LORDS OF FERMOY. 


207 


steel glove with a grim smile. “ Tell thy master to 
come as speedily as he lists, and that I and my 
crossbow men, and riders-at-arms, will give him the 
reception that befits his state from the ramparts of 
Gian worth.” 

And so the herald again crossed the ford, and 
rode back to his master. 

But it seems that Sir William Flemming miscal- 
culated the power and influence possessed at that 
time by the fiery Baron of Cloghlea. These were 
days, when in Ireland, and in fact throughout every 
country in Europe, the strong hand with lance and 
sword held the place that the law holds at the 
present period. Each lord and baron was his own 
lawgiver, — a petty prince, who, after paying his 
tribute to the government, held himself absolved 
from all other obligations, and ruled- his territories, 
and made war and peace with his neighbors, accord- 
ing to the dictates of his own will. And so it was 
with Sir William Cantoun. 

That night the warder, as he looked from his 
watchtower on the summit of Glanworth Castle, 
could see the whole wide plain to the eastward 
ablaze with the signal fires of the wrathful Baron of 
Cloghlea. During several succeeding nights the 
same portentous fires threw up their lurid glare 
into the calm, still sky; and day by day, by castle 
and town and hamlet, fierce riders spurred hither 
and thither to chief and vassal, summoning them 
to take up arms, and back the quarrel of their stout 


208 


THE FIRST AND LAST 


suzerain, till at length a large and formidable army 
was collected around the castle of Sir William 
Cantoun. Not’ content with this gathering, how- 
ever, he sent for help to O’Keefe, the native and 
hereditary chief of the whole country stretching 
along the northern shore of the Blackwater, and 
obtained it, together with the aid of another Irish 
chief equally powerful. 

With this formidable army, Sir William Cantoun 
marched westward from his castle, and began to lay 
waste the territories of the Baron of Fermoy. After 
going with fire and sword along all the eastern por- 
tion of the district, he at length reached Gian worth 
Castle, and sat down before its walls to commence 
a regular siege. A siege in those days was a very 
different affair from what it has come to be in more 
modern times. There were then no cannon ; and 
the only method of battering down walls consisted 
in the use of engines, which, on the introduction of 
gunpowder, were thrown aside as unavailable in war- 
fare, and of which we now scarcely remember the 
names. Yet with engine, arbalist, crossbow, and jav- 
elin, Sir William Cantoun plied the castle, till, in a 
few days, the besieged were reduced to sore dis- 
tress. At this stage, the Baron of Cloglilea again 
demanded the hand of Amy Flemming, but was 
again refused. 

On the fourth day the sun that lit the fierce faces 
of the combatants in and around Gian worth was 
also reflected from the points of ten spears that 


LORDS OF FERMOY. 


209 


were stuck, handle downward, in the soft sward of 
a little glade in the midst of the great forest that 
then clothed the back of the wild mountain range 
that walls in the territory of Fermoy to the south- 
ward, and ends in the romantic peak of Corrin 
Thierna. Their owners, as many knights, were 
sitting lazily upon the grass beside them, enjoying 
their noontide meal, while their horses were scattered 
along the glade in the exercise of the same agreeable 
occupation. The leader of this group was a young 
man of great stature and noble bearing, with light- 
colored hair, and a fine, sun-embrowned visage, that 
looked all the better from a small white scar that 
extended obliquely down his high forehead. His 
name was Richard de Rupe, or Roche. His father, 
Sir Adam de Rupe, fighting under the banners of 
Strongbow and Fitzstephen, had come into posses- 
sion of the barony of Rosscarberry, and there built a 
magnificent castle on the river Bandon, called Poul- 
ne-long, whose ruins still remain to attest its former 
strength and splendor. On his death, his son, Rich- 
ard de Rupe, succeeded him ; and was on his way on 
the day in question to visit another strong castle of 
his, on the northern frontier of the county Cork. 
The whole band were chatting' gayly upon various 
subjects as the meal proceeded. 

They were at length disturbed, however, by the 
appearance of a horseman above them on the bare 
side of a hill, who came down at full speed upon 
H 


210 


THE FIE ST AND LAST 


their left,, with the intention of making his way 
downward into the southern plain. 

“ A prize, a prize ! ” exclaimed Sir Gilbert Riden- 
ford and a few other young knights, starting to their 
feet, and buckling on their helmets. “By the hand 
of the Conqueror, a prize and adventure both ! ” And 
they ran towards their steeds, which each mounted 
at a single bound. Then, catching their spears in* 
their hands, they sat looking towards their leader, 
for liberty to ride after the stranger, who was pass- 
ing on the left without perceiving them. 

“ Away ! ” exclaimed Sir Richard de Rupe. “ He 
will be but a small prize, indeed. But, if he carry 
nothing else, he may tell us some, news ; for every 
Irishman is chockful of that commodity.” 

Away dashed the wild young knights down the 
woods, till they came to the bottom of a deep valley, 
through which they knew the strange horseman 
must pass; and there, after much doubling and 
twisting, they at length captured him, and led him 
in triumph to their comrades. 

“ Gold, gold ! ” shouted one of them derisively, as 
the captive came sullenly in. “Search him, Sir 
Gilbert : I will wager he hath a treasure.” 

“ I will barter my steed, trappings and all, against 
a jew’s donkey, but he hath the elixir of life hid in 
his pocket,” exclaimed another. 

“What errand ridestthou?” asked Sir Richard 
de Rupe, in a commanding but respectful tone^ 
which drew an answer from the captured horseman. 


LORDS OF FERMOY. 


211 


He told them the substance of what is related above, 
and that he was riding southward to the castle of 
Sir Maurice Fitzgerald to beg aid for his master, the 
Baron of Fermoy, in his sore distress. 

“There!” said Ridenford, “I told thee an ad- 
venture would come of it ; and now what is to be 
done?” 

* “ First, to let the courier go,” answered de Rupe. 
“We will hold counsel as we ride along.” 

The courier waited no further liberty, but, turn- 
ing his horse, rode down through the woods at the 
same headlong pace with which he came. The 
result of their consultation, as they rode over the 
range of mountains and crossed the Blackwater, 
was that the nine knights should remain in the 
forest near, while their leader rode forward to the 
beleagured castle of Glanworth, and demanded ad- 
mittance to its lord. The warlike customs of those 
days were strangly different from those of the pres- 
ent. Sir Richard de Rupe, on reaching the besie- 
ging army, at once caused himself to be brought 
before the Baron of Cloghlea, and made his request ; 
which was granted without hesitation and with the 
utmost courtesy. And thus he was admitted into 
the castle of Glanworth. 

“ Sir William Flemming,” said he to the old 
baron, who received him in the hall, “ I have come 
to offer thee the service of my arm in thy strait. 
My father, Adam de Rupe, was, I believe, once thy 
companion-in-arms.” 


212 


THE FIRST AND LAST 


The baron took his hand with a friendly grasp. 
“ Ah ! ” he said, “ I remember him well, and a brave 
companion he was. And thou, — thou art welcome 
to my poor hall of Gian worth ; although, God 
wot!” continued he, with a sad smile, “ I fear thy 
single arm will make but small change in our affairs ; 
for we are indeed sore beset.” 

“ I have nine other knights at my back,” said De 
Rupe. “ Could we not send them word of thy 
plight, and make a bold sally upon the besiegers, 
during which they might suddenly mingle with the 
combatants, and get entrance as we withdraw? ” 

“ I fear no entrance can be gained for more than 
thee,” answered Flemming. “Yesterday we tried 
that ruse, to get in a small body of auxiliaries ; but, 
by my faith ! we were all beaten back, and half our 
expected aid slain. Save that my old friend, Sir 
Maurice Fitzgerald, come speedily with a large 
force to relieve us, I fear me there is but small hope 
for us ; for the bloody Cantoun and his followers 
are pressing us too hotly.” 

“ How long canst thou hold out, in case the aid 
come ? ” asked De Rupe. 

“ Not longer than another day, I fear me,” an- 
swered Flemming. “ The foe are in possession of 
every available spot around the castle, and have 
already half battered down the gates.” 

“ Then,” said De Rupe, after a pause, “ there is 
but one plan, and that is to offer myself to do battle 
with axe and sword against Sir William Cantoun 
for the hand of thy daughter.” 


LORDS OF FERMOY. 


213 


“ It is a brave plan,” said the baron, “ and one that 
well befits thy father’s son. But I have sworn by 
my knightly word, no matter what haps, to let my 
daughter choose for herself. If she choose thee for 
a husband, then I give my consent to the trial by 
combat : and I doubt not but Cantoun will accept 
of thy challenge ; for whatever else he may be, he 
assuredly is brave. I will call my daughter, and do 
thou propose thy plan to her thyself. ” 

The beautiful Amy Flemming was again brought 
into the hall. 

“ Fair lady,” said De Rupe, “ I would wish to woo 
thee in another and more befitting way, but cannot, 
as thou seest. Wilt thou consent that I should do 
battle with Sir William Cantoun for thy hand? 
With thy bright eyes to look upon me in the strug- 
gle, I hope to do my devoir as becomes a knight, 
and free thy father from his worst foe.” 

Amy scanned the fine face and fair proportions 
of the young knight with a pleased eye. There 
was but little time for deliberation, for even then 
they heard the foe hammering at the gate. 

“ Yes,” she said, while a blush of maiden modesty 
mantled her beautiful face. “My father is now 
brought to sore distress. An’ thou relieve him and 
me from our foe, I will be thy bride.” 

That night, notwithstanding the sad case of the 
besieged, a merry revel was held in the hall of 
Gian worth Castle. The fair Amy sat at the board ; 
and, as she talked to the young De Rupe, her heart 


214 


THE FIRST AND LAST 


confirmed the consent she was forced to give so sud- 
denly the preceding evening. The next morning’s 
sun shone gayly down upon the many bright objects 
around the castle, — the polished armor of the 
knights as they stalked to and fro directing the 
movements of the besiegers ; the waving banners on 
plain and tower; the light lances of the kern; the 
ponderous swords, bucklers, and battle-axes of the 
heavy footmen, who were now gathering in a 
mass with scaling-ladders, to make a final attack 
upon the besieged. At this juncture, a white flag 
was suddenly raised from the highest tower of the 
barbacan, and its appearance caused for a moment 
a suspension of hostilities on both sides. Immedi- 
ately after, a herald rode forth from the gate, and 
demanded to be brought into the presence of the 
Baron of Cloghlea. 

“ Sir William Cantoun,” said the herald, “ I come 
to offer thee single combat on the part of Sir Rich- 
ard de Rupe, good knight and true, now in the 
castle, for the hand of the Lady Amy.” 

“ And what if I refuse ? ” answered the Knight of 
Cloghlea, with a bitter smile. “The castle, father 
and daughter, champion and all, will be soon in my 
hands, without the trouble of trial by combat.” 

“ Then,” said the herald, “ Sir Richard de Rupe 
bids me say that he will proclaim thee recreant and 
coward through all the lands of Christendom, and 
false to thy badge of knighthood.” 

“ That were, indeed, a hard alternative,” answered 


LORDS OF FERMOY. 


215 


Cantoun. “ But it shall never be said that William 
of Cloghlea refused the challenge of any mortal 
man. I accept thy defiance, sir herald, and will 
meet him at noon with axe and sword, on foot, on 
this very spot, and in sight of all ” 

Noon came, and saw the besiegers all gathering 
round a level spot outside the barbacan gate of Glan- 
worth, and the besieged, with eager faces, crowding 
on the walls to witness the combat ; while the beau- 
tiful Amy sat with her maids at a high turret- win- 
dow that overlooked the scene, her face pale and 
her heart throbbing, and her white hands clasped in 
prayer for the success of her young and gallant 
champion. What must have been her feelings when 
at length she saw the two adversaries approach each 
other warily, under the cover of their broad shields, 
each with axe in hand, poised and ready to begin 
the combat? 

And now the axes were crossed, and again came 
down for some time alternately, with loud clanging, 
upon the interposed shields. Hotter and hotter 
grew the combat, till at last the axe of de Rupe 
crashed in through the shoulder-plate of Cantoun, 
making the blood flow out upon his arm and breast. 
This aroused the full fury of Sir William Cantoun, 
who was one of the most celebrated knights of his 
time for strength and prowess. He raised his axe 
suddenly, as if about to deliver a heavy blow upon 
the hip of de Rupe; but, changing the direction of 
the stroke, the ponderous weapon came down with 


216 


THE FIRST AND LAST 


full force upon the helmet of his antagonist, making 
him reel backward a few paces, and at length fall 
to the ground over the body of a dead archer that 
lay behind him. Now this archer had been slain in 
the very act of poising his crossbow, which lay 
beside him drawn, and with the arrow in, under the 
very hand of de Rupe as he fell. Whether it was 
according to the laws of single combat, on the part 
of de Rupe, we will not say; but, as he fell, he 
grasped the drawn crossbow in his hand, raised it 
as he half lay upon the ground, and discharged it at 
his adversary as he advanced to despatch him, 
piercing him with the arrow through one of the 
joints of his armor. The arrow entered Sir William 
Cantoun’s left side, and pierced in an upward direc- 
tion through his heart ; on which he fell heavily to 
the ground, and in a few moments expired. His 
body was borne away with loud lamentations by 
his sorrowing vassals : O’Keefe and the other chief- 
tains departed with their followers, and Sir William 
Flemming was left once more in peaceable posses- 
sion of his castle and domains. The lovely Amy 
and her champion were soon after married. The 
young knights assisted at the bridal ceremony, and 
wondered at, and laughed heartily over, the good 
fortune of their leader. 

“By my fay!” said Sir Gilbert Ridenford to Can- 
temar, his brother-in-arms, after they had danced a 
few merry measures down the great hall, “ I told 
thee this was an enchanted land. I will ride forth 


LORDS OF FERMOY. 


217 


to-morrow in quest of an adventure for myself, and 
try and win a fair bride like our leader ” 

Amy was the sole heiress of Sir William Flem- 
ming ; and, at his death, her husband, in her right, 
succeeded to the possession of the fair territory of 
Fermoy, which was in his lifetime raised to a lord- 
ship. And thus Sir Richard de Rupe, or Roche, 
won those fertile lands, and became the first lord of 
Fermoy, and the progenitor of a long line of barons, 
distinguished for their princely hospitality, their 
prowess, and often for their patriotic devotedness to 
the cause of their native land. 

Pass we now over a period of some centuries, 
during which the successive lords of Fermoy lived, 
loved, fought, and died within their fair territory, 
like brave Norman-Irish nobles as they were, till we 
come to that stormy time when Ireland and the 
sister island groaned beneath the iron rule of the 
victorious usurper, Cromwell. Maurice, eighth Vis- 
count Fermoy, was at this time a man in the prime 
of life. His father David, after suffering severely in 
the great Desmond insurrection of 1598, was recom- 
pensed for his losses in the succeeding reign. Sev- 
eral large grants of land, partly from the forfeited 
estates of the Earl of Desmond, were given him by 
James the First ; and, living peaceably for a long pe- 
riod in his ancestral home, he at length became one 
of the richest noblemen in Ireland. After the acces- 
sion of the unfortunate Charles to the throne of 
England, and the breaking out of the great insur- 


218 


THE FIRST AND LAST 


rection of 1641 in Ireland, this David retired to 
France with his family, and a regiment he had 
raised within his own territory, and there died, leav- 
ing his estates, worth, it is said, fifty thousand pounds 
yearly, to his eldest son Maurice, the eighth lord of 
Fermoy. 

The estates to which Maurice succeeded were, 
however, in a very insecure position from the sad 
state of the country at the time. North and south, 
east and west, the baleful fires of war were glaring 
redly throughout the land. Sanctimonious Puritan, 
hot-headed native chief, and cautious noble of the 
Pale, were then battling with savage ferocity; some 
for the rebellious Parliament, some for the weal of 
their native land, some for the unfortunate King 
Charles, and a great many, with sorrow be it said, 
for their own aggrandizement. 

Among those that held stoutly and faithfully to 
the last to the colors of both king and country was 
Maurice of Fermoy. When the oppressed Catho- 
lics, at length banded together, formed the Confed- 
eration, and sent their deputies to Kilkenny to re- 
dress their wrongs, Viscount Fermoy took his place 
in the Parliament then formed among the Peers, 
while several gentlemen of his own name attended 
the Commons. This was in the stormy year 1646. 
On the breaking up of the Confederation, Vis- 
count Fermoy, with many of the gentlemen of his 
house, again took up arms against Cromwell and his 
generals ; but gained by his loyalty only defeat and 


LORDS OF FERMOY. 


210 


forfeiture. He fled, an outlawed man, to Flanders, 
and thus lost the castled home and fair patrimony 
won so gallantly by his great ancestor, Sir Richard 
de Rupe. We will follow him a little further, how- 
ever, and show how faithfully he still adhered to his 
unscrupulous monarch, and how he was rewarded 
for his devotedness. 

In a somewhat small room in an ancient Flemish 
town, towards the close of the last year of the ban- 
ishment of Charles the Second, that monarch sat 
with a few of his exiled nobles around a table, on 
• one end of which were arranged the materials for a 
supper. Charles and his comrades at this time led 
a somewhat rakish life, notwithstanding their pov- 
erty and their many troubles. On the evening in 
question, he and two of his favorites were sitting at 
the head of the table, and deeply engaged in a game, 
then very fashionable, namely, primero. A small 
heap of gold coins was placed before each of the 
players, while another — the stake — lay at the foot 
of the little lamp that gave them light for their 
game. A jovial smile played over the features of 
the “merry monarch,” as he raised the last card 
of his deal, and threw it triumphantly upon those of 
his companions. 

“Ha!” he exclaimed, laughing, “two hearts, — 
two hearts, and my bonnie ace upon their necks ! 
By my sovereign word ! an’ I win this, I shall be a 
.second Croesus ere the morning. The game is 
mine.” And he swept the stake over to his side. 


220 


THE FIliST AND LAST 


“My lord,” said one of the players, smiling, “ for- 
tune seems to smile continually upon thy head to- 
night. And touching that same golden monarch 
your majesty was pleased to name just now, had 
we him here, thou wert sure to succeed to his treas- 
ures. But, with us poor spendthrifts, thou wilt not 
be much richer, an’ thou win all our store.” 

“ By my father’s wise head ! no,” said the mon- 
arch, glancing at the diminutive heaps of gold. 

“ But, come ! another game, and a fig for Dame 
Fortune, that will not stand to me in sterner play 
than this ! ” And he took up the cards, and began 
shuffling and dealing them with no inexpert hand. 

Game after game now, however, went against the 
monarch. The heap of gold, whose size he had 
augmented in the beginning of the evening, now 
began to dwindle away gradually, till at last he was 
reduced to one solitary coin. The cards were dealt 
once more, and began to fly down quickly upon the 
table. 

“Now for a dash in Dame Fortune’s face!” said 
the king, as he held again his last card in his hand, 
and threw it. “Ha! by my kingly hand! lost, — 
lost ! ” continued he as he saw the game go against 
( him. “ And now, to borrow, — to borrow ! who will 
lend?” 

“ Borrow and beg,” exclaimed the young noble- 
man to his left, with a careless laugh, “by my 
knightly word ! but they are trades we are all expert 
in now-a-days. I will become your majesty’s treas-** 


LORDS OF FERMOY. 


221 


urer for the present, and, unlike the stubborn, crop- 
eared Parliament, supply thy wants to the uttermost 
of my poor means.” And he handed over the greater 
part of his supply to the king. At that moment a 
lackey entered the apartment, and stood respectfully 
near the door. 

“ Ha ! Hilson, what now ? ” said the king, arran- 
ging the little heap of gold before him. 

“ Sire,” answered the attendant, “ a gentleman is 
now in the waiting-room, who craves speech with 
your majesty.” 

“ His name ? his name ? ” inquired the king, with 
a lazy yawn. 

“ He gave no name, sire,” answered the attendant, 
“but he bade me tell your majesty that he was 
your friend of Mayence.” 

“ My friend of Mayence,” said the king. “ Ah ! ” 
continued he to his companions, “ I have good reason 
to remember him. He is one of my wild Irish lords, 
who, not content to lose his patrimony in my cause, 
still contrives to help me in my troubles. Marry ! 
I would wish there were many like him. Send him 
into our presence, Hilson ; but, ere he comes,” and 
he gave a light and careless laugh, “we must put 
our trumps and aces from before his roving eyes. 
Away with them, for I know what he brings ; and 
now to supper.” 

The cards were removed by one of the young 
noblemen, and the king and his companions were 
seated innocently at supper as the stranger entered. 


222 


THE FIRST AND LAST 


The latter was muffled in the long military cloak of 
the period ; and as he stepped over respectfully, and 
dropped on one knee before the king, the young 
noblemen could not help casting a glance of ap- 
proval at each other at his manly bearing, tall fig- 
ure, and handsome, bronzed countenance. 

“ Arise, my Lord of Fermoy,” said the king : “ thou 
art welcome to our poor lodging. It grieves us we 
cannot welcome thee in better state; but come, 
arise, and partake with us of this sorry fare our re- 
bellious subjects have driven us to subsist on.” 

“ My liege,” answered Maurice, Lord of Fermoy 
(for it was he), “ before I rise, let me present your 
majesty with this.” And he produced a heavy bag 
of gold from under his long cloak. “ It is the poor 
pay of myself and some of my kinsmen. Small as 
it is, — it is all we have, — I trust it may relieve thy 
necessities for a short time. A day will soon come, 
I trust, when thou wilt hold thine own again, and 
have small need of the poor contributions of thy 
devoted subjects.” And he laid the bag of gold upon 
the table before the king. 

“ We accept of it, my Lord of Fermoy,” said the 
king, raising him, “ and with the more pleasure that 
the day is coming — yes, times are changing mo- 
mently in our favor — when we can recompense 
thee tenfold for this and many another kindness. 
The day that sees us restored to our throne and to 
our rights shall also see thee in the enjoyment of 
thy lost lands and thy native home. Arise, and let 
us to supper.” 


LORDS OF FERMOY. 


223 


And thus Maurice, Lord of Fermoy, and his brave 
kinsmen, spent their pay during their military ser- 
vice in Flanders. They shared it with their king 
during his exile ; and, when the Protector died, and 
Charles II. was restored to his throne, they natu- 
rally expected a reversal of their attainder, and a 
return to their native land and to their homes and 
properties. But when Viscount Fermoy, and the 
numerous kinsmen of his that had lost their estates 
in the cause of the king and his unfortunate prede- 
cessor, presented their petition at court, the light 
and faithless Charles the Second, instead of remem- 
bering their devotedness and his own plighted 
word, only laughed at them, put them off from day 
to day, and at length, in his “ Declaration of Royal 
Gratitude,” named one of that gallant house, Capt. 
Miles Roche, only, as eligible for reward for “ ser- 
vices beyond the sea.” Viscount Fermoy, after the 
failure of his hopes and the loss of his noble patri- 
mony, left his native land forever, and died with a 
broken heart far away in a foreign land, illustrating 
a lesson that was well taught to the head of many 
a gallant house in those troublous days by the 
“merry monarch,” namely, “put not thy trust in 
princes.” 




The Chase from the Hostel. 


A LEGEND OF MALLOW. 


I N the days of the Williamite wars, Mallow was 
one of the most important military stations in 
the south of Ireland. The town at this period — 
that is, the newly-built portion of it — consisted of 
between two and three hundred houses, many of 
which were strongly built, and fitted for defence in 
case of siege. The old portion of the town, or, as it 
was called by the inhabitants, Ballydaheen, lay on 
the southern bank of the Black water, and communi- 
cated with its new and more fashionable neighbor 
by a long, narrow, stone bridge, easily fortified, and 
rendered impassable in time of war by its proxim- 
ity to the castle which commanded it. Ballydaheen 
at that time consisted almost exclusively of houses 
of entertainment for man and horse ; but, of all its 
hostels, not one was half so well patronized, by peas- 
ant, soldier, and Rapparee, as that of Murty Goold, 
which lay a few perches up a narrow street that 

224 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


225 


opened into the more public one which led to the 
new town over the bridge. Various causes tended 
to the success of Murty’s hostel ; the principal of 
which were, that he was known in Ballydaheen and 
the wide country round to be a good man, and true 
in the cause of King James, to be the j oiliest com- 
panion over the can that was ever born in Mallow, 
and that in his shop were to be found the best and 
cheapest beer, brandy, wine, and usquebaugh in 
Munster. 

It was a hot August day, somewhat more than a 
month after the battle of the Boyne, and Murty 
Goold was sitting in his shop before a half-emptied 
can of beer, singing to himself a consolatory lament 
over the fallen fortunes of King James, when he 
was aroused from his euphonious reveries by the 
halting of a pair of horsemen at his door. Leaving 
both his can of beer and desolation of spirit behind 
him, Murty hastened out with a sudden and hilari- 
ous glow on his countenance to welcome his custom- 
ers, who, after directing their horses to be led into 
the stable at the back of the premises, walked into 
the drinking-room inside the shop. 

An’ now,” said Murty, as he entered the room, 
after attending to the wants of the horses, “ in the 
name o’ the fiend ! Theige O’Cooney an’ Donogli 
O’Brin both, what brings ye here at this time o’ day, 
when Gineral S’gravenmore an’ his bloody Danes are 
in the town? An’,” he continued, as the two horse- 
men threw off their long cothamores ? and laid them 
15 


226 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


on the table, “ when ye came at all, why did ye come 
in yeer back-an’-breasts an’ helmets, an’ wid sword 
an’ pistol an’ gun, like two ginerals of cavalthry?” 

“I’ll tell you what, Murt,” answered Theige 
O’Cooney, “ myself an’ this nate step-brother o’ 
mine, Donough, were afther ridin’ from Duhallow 
under the hot sun, till our throats became as dry as 
the pipe o’ Rodeen Gow’s bellows ; an’ we said to 
ourselves, as we gained the top o’ the hill above, 
that the devil resave the step farther we’d ride with- 
out paying Murty Goold a visit, an’ drinking some 
o’ his beer, — a rattling can of it, Murt. What do 
we care about Gineral Skavinger an’ his blue-coated 
Danes ? ” 

“Arrah ! what Danes?” said Donogh O’Brin. 
“When they surrounded Theige an’ myself on the 
Inch beyant, the day that the MacDonogh an’ his 
army were driven from before the town, didn’t we 
cut thro’ them, the set o’ cowardly fools, — didn’t 
we slash thro’ them, I say, side by side, an’ soord in 
hand, as we’d go thro’ a bank o’ rotten sedge by the 
river shore? An’ are we afraid o’ them now? 
Arrah ! bring in the beer ; an’ you an’ I an Theige 
will have a roarin’ bout at the tankard, if ould 
Skravinger and his blue-coats were burnin’ the house 
around us.” 

“Very well,” said Murty; “but, in the manetime, 
we’ll put Shaneen the Hawk on the watch, for fear 
o’ their coming on us onawares. Here, Shaneen ! ” 
he continued, as he went out to the shop, and 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


227 


addressed himself to a swarthy, ’cute-eyed, little 
atomy of a boy that stood at the door. “ Off with 
you to the bridge, an’ be on the look-out for the 
blue-coats ; for you know, as well as I do, who’s in- 
side.” Shaneen the Hawk started off on the instant, 
while his master went to a huge barrel at the end of 
the shop, and commenced drawing the beer, accom- 
panying the operation with the remainder of that 
elegiac and melancholious strain in which he was 
interrupted by the arrival of the two Rapparee 
horsemen. 

Theige O’Cooney and Donogh* O’Brin, his step- 
brother, were at that time, and in that broad district, 
two Rapparee leaders of valor and renown, whose 
exploits against the Williamite soldiers are still 
sung in many a rude ballad, and narrated by the 
peasantry in wild and stirring legends, around their 
winter firesides. Each was in the prime of life, and 
somewhat above the middle stature ; each possessed 
that iron, brawny, and well-knit frame that enables 
its possessor to undergo any amount of fatigue with- 
out flagging; and in the bright eye and darkly- 
bronzed features of both could be read that jovial 
and headlong bravery which characterized many a 
gallant Rapparee of that warlike time. While 
Murty was drawing the beer, Theige and his step- 
brother were depositing their weapons of offence on 
the table, in order to be prepared for any sudden 
emergency; and, on the entrance of the jolly land- 
lord with two foaming cans, pointed out to him with 
much satisfaction their formidable array. 


228 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


“ Look,” exclaimed Theige, seizing one of the cans 
of beer, and taking a long and copious draught, 
“ look at those, man, and say how would the blue- 
coats like a taste o’ them. There are two blunder- 
busses with twenty bullets in each ; and there are four 
pistols that myself an’ Donogh took from the two 
trooper captains we killed in the fray of Barna. 
An’ with this, an’ this,” he continued, pointing to 
the long and heavy swords they wore at their sides, 
“ don’t you think we’re safe in spending a few jovial 
hours, or a jolly night even, under your sign o’ the 
Crowin’ Cock, in * Ballydaheen ? Here’s to you, 
Hurt, an’ to you, Donogh; an’ may all our foes fol- 
low the sowl o’ Schomberg, the ould sinner ! ” 

“I cannot drink to that,” said Donogh, “ while 
Murt is empty-handed. Off with you, Murt, an’ 
bring in a can for yourself, an’ then we’ll drink to 
the tatheration of our foes, with Theige.” 

Murt obeyed the mandate with unusual celerity, 
and returned with a well-filled tankard. “ Here,” 
he said, “ I’ll drink your toast in the words o’ the 
song that Gulielmis O’Callaghan, the Kanturk 
schoolmaster, made a few hours before he was 
hanged by S’gravenmore’s troopers : — 

“ ‘ Bad luck to ould bandy-legged Schomberg, 

King William and Mary also ! 

For 'tis they that did watber ould Ireland 
With bloodshed an’ murther an’ woe. 

Ould Schomberg * 

“ Begad ! I forget the rest. But, as to the Crowin’ 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


229 


Cock, there’s a bird outside on the bridge, in the 
shape o’ Shaneen the Hawk, that I think will crow, 
an’ give you warnin’ o’ S’gravenmore’s troopers.” 

“ Sowl o’ my body, man ! ” exclaimed Donogh, 
“ did the ould Skavinger an’ his troopers ever skin 
you alive, that you have him so often on your 
tongue with thrimblin’ and terror? Here, man, 
give us another can o’ beer; an’ Theige there will 
give us a song instead o’ those murtherin’ toasts he’s 
so very fond o’ dhrinkin’. ” 

“ No,” exclaimed Theige, “ I never sing a song 
till after finishing the fourth can o’ beer, an’ even 
then I must have a flagon o’ wine or brandy to 
smoothen my windpipe before I begin.” 

In process of time the fourth can was finished, 
together with a few tankards of wine into the bar- 
gain ; and Theige, on being asked for his song, sat 
back with great hilarity in his chair, and began a 
sonorous strain in the vernacular, of which the fol- 
lowing is a translation : — 

“MOLL ROONE. 

“ There’s a girl in Kilmurry, — my own loved one, — 

The loveliest colleen that the sun shines on : 

Her eyes are as bright as the May- tide moon, 

And the devil a girl like my own Moll Roone ! 

I mounted my steed in the evening brown, 

And away I spurred till the storm came down, 

Away over mountains and moorlands dun, 

Till I came to the cottage of my own Moll Roone. 


230 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


I sat me down by the bogwood fire, 

And I said that her love was my heart’s desire ; 

And she gave me her love, — oh ! she granted my boon, 
And my heart was glad for my own Moll Roone. 

Come ! what is the use of a brave brown steed, 

But to spur to the doing of a gallant deed ? 

And what is the use of a sword or gun, 

But to fight for a girl like my own Moll Roone ? 

As I rode down the mountains one Saturday night, 

The valley below was one blaze of light ; 

And I found out its meaning full sadly and soon, 

’Twas the foe fired the cottage of my own Moll Roone. 

I spurred thro’ Blackwater, o’er brake and moor, 

I spurred thro’ the foe to her cottage door : 

There my sword cleft the skull of a Dutch dragoon, 

And I bore away in triumph my own Moll Roone.” 

“ Hurra ! ” exclaimed Donogh, at the termination 
of the song, “ wasn’t that nate, Murt ? An’ be the 
morthial gor o’ war ! but every word in it is true. 
Another flagon o’ wine, Murt, till we drink success 
to T beige’s windpipe, an’ confusion to our foes.” 

“ By the faith of a true man ! ” exclaimed Murt, 
with a ludicrous attempt at feigning terror on his 
jolly countenance, “ but, if Shaneen the Hawk’s face 
speaks truth, both of you will have somethin’ to 
do to bear away your own carcasses in triumph from 
ould S’gravenmore an’ his blue dragoons.” 

“ They’re cornin’ ! they’re cornin’ ! ” said Shaneen, 
as he rushed into the room ; “ the bloody throopers 


THE CIIASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


231 


are cornin’ to kill an’ quarther an’ murtlier every 
mother’s sowl o’ ye. I thought they were only 
settin’ off for Kanturk, bad luck to them ! but they 
circumwinted me, an’ turned back in a gallop over 

the bridge ; an’ listen ! listen, Theige ! here 

they come rattlin’ up the street ! Bad luck to Brian 
Boru, the morthial ould thief, that didn’t kill every 
murthurin’ Dane in the uniwersal world, when he 
had them under his tlmmb-nail ! ” 

“ Give us another tankard, Murt, ” exclaimed 
both the brothers, as they started up and seized 
their arms. “An’ you, Shaneen Brighteye, away 
with you into the stable,” said Theige, “ an’ lade the 
horses into the kitchen, an’ have them ready to 
bring out through the shop-door when we want 
them. An’ now, Murt,” continued he, as he seized 
his tankard, “ here is death to our foes ! Whatever 
men lie on the ground when all is over, be sure to 
search their pockets* well ; for they are all laden 
with the spoil, the goold, an’ riches of our native 
land.” 

The clatter of many horses was now heard out- 
side in the street, together with the words of com- 
mand directing the men to wheel right and left, and 
block up the door at either side. Another officer 
was heard directing a party of men to hurry round 
and occupy the backyard and stables, in case the 
Rapparees should make an attempt to escape in that 
direction. Shaneen the Hawk now rushed in. 

“They’re back in the stables, Theige,” he ex- 


232 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


claimed ; “but the horses are in the kitchen, an’ the 
door is boulted inside. An’ now, Mart,” continued 
the brave little fellow, “ give me the hatchet in the 
shop ; an’ the first Dane that puts his head in thro’ 
the window for a peep, I will chop it off, as Mur- 
rogh na Thua did to the Spy of Ballar.” 

All was silent now within and without. At 
length a voice was heard outside, commanding the 
two brave brothers to come forth, and submit to the 
sad doom that awaited them. “ Come forth,” it said, 
“ ye Amoritish dogs, and die the death to which ye 
were predestined from the beginning. I thank the 
God of the true and chosen, that has ordained me, 
Zerubabel Stubbs, his unworthy servant, to be the 
instrument of your destruction. Come forth, I say ; 
for the sword is made sharp for your rebellious 
bodies, and the cord is slipperied with the grease of 
swine for your lying throats, that oft raised the cry 
for the massacre of the chosen of the Lord, in the 
day of battle.” 

“ It is ould Babel Stubbs, the informer,” exclaimed 
Donogh ; “ but his hour is come.” 

“ An’ now,” said Murty Goold, in a whisper, “ if 
ye’re to be off, off with ye : but ’tis miraclis if ye’re 
not caught, like two foxes in a thrap ; for, as I was 
givin’ the hatchet to Shaneen, I cast an eye out, 
and saw the narrow street blocked up at each side 
o’ the door with a press o’ min, soord in hand.” 

“We’ll make a road through them,” replied 
Theige, “ like Miles the Slasher made through the 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


233 


Scotch at the Battle o’ Benburb. An’ now, Don- 
ogh,” he continued, “look to the primin’ o’ your 
blunderbuss, an’ follow me.” 

With their pistols in their belts, and their blun- 
derbusses ready cocked in their hands, Theige and 
Donogh went side by side to the door, at each side 
of which, in the narrow street, the dragoons were 
ranged in fours, on the watch, awaiting their exit. 
Liltle did Zerubabel Stubbs dream of the answer he 
and his host were to get to his alluring summons. 

“An’ now, Donogh,” said Theige, in a whisper, 
“let you take the murthurin’ dogs to the left, — an’ 
be sure not to miss ould Babel Stubbs, — an’ I’ll 
take the robbin’ wolves to the right. Ready ! ” he 
shouted, “hurra for Righ Shamus, an’ his brave men 
that now range the wood ! ” 

And, at the word, the two blunderbusses were 
discharged with deadly effect, right and left, bring- 
ing down Babel Stubbs and six or eight troopers at 
one side, and about the same number killed and 
wounded on the other. A scene of the wildest con- 
fusion ensued. Wounded horses leaped and neighed 
in terror, stumbled and kicked, and fell in the nar- 
row street; and the remaining troopers, wheeling 
round their terrified steeds, fled in blind panic from 
their position down the narrow lanes of Ballyda- 
heen. 

“ Out with the horses, Shaneen,” exclaimed 
Theige, as he looked around, “out with them, 
quick; for now is our time, while the thremblin’ 
fools are scatthered.” 


234 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


Shaneen the Hawk, still holding the hatchet in 
his hand, led out the horses, one after the other, 
into the street: 

“ Blood o’ my body ! Shaneen,” said Donogh, 
vaulting into his saddle, “ look at ould Babel’s 
finger, the perjured ould son o’ Satan: there is the 
very ring he cut from your mother’s finger on the 
day that she an’ your father an’ all were murdered 
by the throops at the Ford o’ the Mill.” 

Shaneen sprang upon the dead body of Zeruba- 
bel Stubbs with a wild cry ; and, with a blow of the 
hatchet, severed the finger that carried his hapless 
mother’s marriage-ring from the informer’s hand. 
Taking off the ring, he held it up to the two Rappa- 
rees. 

“Ha, ha!” he shouted, in his shrill, vindictive 
voice, “I have it at last. An’, if you let me list 
with your brave min, Theige, that keep the forest, 
’tisn’t the last blow I’ll give the throops, to revenge 
my poor mother and my people.” 

“Very well, Brighteye,” answered Theige, “ come 
to us to-morrow, an’ by the bones o’ my father ! but 
you’ll be a gallant captain yet. An’ now, Murty 
Goold,” he contiuued, turning to that worthy, 
“ don’t forget the haversacks an’ pockets o’ th’ ould 
Skavinger’s troopers. Farewell.” And away dashed 
the two bold Rapparees, side by side, down the 
street. 

Murty Goold obeyed the injunction of Theige 
O’Cooney ; and, searching and ransacking among 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


235 


the pockets and haversacks of the slain troopers, 
found a share of spoil — the plunder of many a 
ruined dwelling in town and hamlet — that enabled 
him that night to decamp without loss from his 
house of entertainment, and set off for Cork, where 
he set up an establishment of an equally flourishing 
description, and where, in process of time, he be- 
came a burgess, and ultimately the jolliest alderman 
in the city. 

Away dashed Theige and his brother towards the 
bridge, on the middle of which, as they went up at 
full gallop, a sergeant and four troopers stood to bar 
their way. Each threw his bridle loose on his 
horse’s neck, and, drawing the pistol from the left 
holster, dashed with his sword upon the astonished 
Danes. Both fired as they went, bringing down the 
unfortunate sergeant and one of his comrades with 
a dull crash on the hard pavement, and, sweeping 
past the remainder, rattled up the long street. As 
they dashed on, the troopers on the bridge, recover- 
ing from their surprise and panic, fired their mus- 
ketoons after them. One of the bullets wounded 
Donogh’s horse in the leg, and another struck the 
ridge on Theige’s helmet, throwing him for a moment 
forward on the neck of his horse. 

“ Ha, ha ! ” he cried. “ A good shot, truly ; but 
’tis the first one I ever got from behind. Away, 
Donogh, away, I say ! Look behind : there’s a 
whole rigement o’ the blue thieves rattlin’ over the 
bridge afther us.” 


236 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


Away up the long, stony street they clattered 
with three troops of General S’graven more’s dra- 
goons in hot pursuit behind them. On gaining a small 
hillock outside the town, they turned their horses 
eastward, and, breaking through copse and over 
fence, swept down at full speed by the Blackwater 
side. They now began for a while to distance 
their pursuers ; but the dogged Danes kept like 
bloodhounds on their track in a dull, unvarying, 
but sure gallop for mile on mile of forest and plain. 
As the two brothers had swept ahead of their pur- 
suers about half a mile, and were crossing a little 
stream that emptied itself into the river Blackwater, 
Donogh’s horse began to slacken his speed and fail 
in consequence of his wounded leg. Urging him 
on with voice and spur, he endeavored for a time to 
keep up with the speed of the wild and splendid 
mare bestrode by his brother Theige ; but, despite 
all his exertions, the poor horse began to flag more 
and more, so that Theige had at length to slacken 
his speed in order to keep by his side. 

“It is useless,” exclaimed Donogh at length. 
“ Away with you, Theige, and leave me behind, to 
die as my father did before me, — like a man.” 

“Never,” answered Theige. “It shall never be 
said of Theige O’Cooney by his comrades at the 
camp-fire, an’ by his gineral when he rides into bat- 
tle, that he left the brother of his heart behind him, 
to die beneath the swords of yonder Danish dogs.” 

“The best man should be saved,” rejoined Don- 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


237 


ogli ; “ an’ there is none like you to make our com- 
rades laugh around the forest fire, nor a man like 
you on the tundherin’ field o’ battle.” 

“ Take my horse,” said Theige. “ Her hoofs are 
swift as the winds on Corrin Thierna ; an’ she will 
bear you away, like a flash o’ lightnin’, to Rockforest, 
safe an’ sound.” 

“ By the sowl o’ the mother that bore me ! ” 
answered Donogh, “but I’d rather die a thousand 
deaths than do a mane act like that. Away w T ith 
you, man, afore it is too late ; an’ lave me to my 
doom. What is it to die, when one does it like a 
brave man ? ” 

“ Look ! ” said Theige, as they still spurred along, 
“look behind at that thrumpeter on his white horse ! 
See ! he’s a quarter of a mile afore his comrades, an’ 
the same from us. He’ll soon be up with us, if he 
goes at that rate. By the morthial ! but that’s a 
brave horse, an’ I’ll have him. An’ now, Donogh, 
look at this,” he continued, as he rode close up to 
the side of his brother, with his naked sJcean , or 
dagger, in his hand. “By this sJcean, if you don’t 
take my mare, I’ll plunge it through your heart ; for 
I’d rather you’d die by my hand than be hanged 
like a dog when the throopers come up an’ surround 
you. Now, leap behind me on the saddle, for we 
cannot lose time ; an’ I’ll scramble into your saddle 
from this. There, — that’s it,” continued he, as 
Donogh, aware that further parley was useless, 
sprang behind him on the brave mare. “Now for a 


238 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL . 


spring in airnest ! ” And, with a bound like that of 
a wild cat, he threw himself on Donogh’s lame 
horse. “Hurra!” he cried, “off with you, an’ 
watch back from the high grounds how I’ll dale with 
the man o’ the white horse.” 

At this time they were on a height over a broad, 
flat valley. Away went Donogh at a hard gallop, 
and soon left his brother behind; who, however, 
went on in his track down the smooth declivity, as 
fast as the lame horse could carry him. As he left 
the descent, and was riding out into the flat bosom 
of the valley, the poor horse, weak from exertion 
and loss of blood, stumbled and fell beneath his 
rider at the crossing of a little stream. Just as 
Theige had extricated himself from the fallen steed, 
he heard a wild and exulting shout behind him ; and, 
on looking back, beheld the trumpeter coming at a 
furious pace down the declivity, and calling out to 
him at the same time, with various choice execra- 
tions in Dutch and Danish, to stand and yield him- 
self prisoner. Theige, however, neither caring for 
nor understanding the polite invitation, shook his 
sword at the trumpeter, -and dashed over the soft 
sward of the valley in the direction of his brother. 
On came the trumpeter, closer and closer to him 
whom he considered but a helpless and defenceless 
fugitive ; but, if he could only have seen the fierce 
and steady eye cast back at him occasionally by the 
Rnpparee, he would have been far more cautious in his 
movements. As he came up, he delivered his most 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


239 


tremendous and scientific cut at the head of the 
Rapparee, intending to sheer it off at one blow ; but 
Theige, stooping almost to the ground at the same 
instant, allowed the sword to pass harmlessly over 
him, and, before the trumpeter crould turn, was up 
with a wild and agile bound behind him on the 
white horse. 

“An’ now, you murthurin’ dog!” he cried, as he 
clasped the luckless trumpeter around the body with 
his left hand, and flourished his long skea?i in his 
right, “ did you ever feel the firm grip of a man be- 
fore? You sack o’ wind, you ’ll never more blow 
the chargin’ blast on a trumpet. Take that!” And, 
at the word, the body of the trumpeter, pierced 
through and through by the long sJcean , fell on the 
boggy sward. At the same moment the first troop 
of the pursuers appeared on the height overhead, 
and, seeing the fate of their comrade, dashed head- 
long downward with a revengeful cry. 

“ Hurra ! ” shouted Theige, as he crept into the 
high-peaked saddle of the terrified horse, and urged 
him, like the wind, across the valley. “ Here they 
come, the bloody hounds ! but the first man that 
laves his ranks an’ comes up, he ’ll get a sore blow 
to reward him for his run ! ” 

Away along the valley, over the opposite height, 
and dawn into the scattered forest by the river shore. 
Here Theige, feeling himself more secure, reined in 
his horse to a leisurely canter, intending to gain a 
ford farther down the river, where his brother would 


240 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


be likely to cross, and await him on the farther side. 
On gaining the summit of a small, bare height, he 
could see behind him the scattered array of the 
troopers coming along at the same furious gallop, 
their armor and other accoutrements glittering in 
the sun, and their plumes glancing hither and thither 
with picturesque effect through green glade and hol- 
low. Here Theige paused a moment to take a better 
survey of his pursuers. Far before the rest, two offi- 
cers spurred along, one behind the other, down the 
bosom of a narrow valley that led by the height on 
which he rested his horse. 

“’Tis the ould Gray Captain an’ his brother,” 
muttered Theige : “ the man that hanged Guilelmis 
the Poet, an’ burned the villages o’ the west; the 
man that stabbed the priest beneath the Blossom 
Gate in Kilmallock; an’ the very man that gave me 
this slash of his sabre on the head in the battle on 
the Inch o’ Mallow. By the blessed Tree of Gorm, 
but I ’ll pay him back now or never ! ” And with that 
he gave his steed the spur, and galloped down at the 
opposite side of the hillock. Turning to the right, 
he descended into the valley at its lower extremity, 
and there reined up his steed once more, at the cor- 
ner of a thick grove, by which he knew the two 
officers would pass. 

In a few moments the Gray Captain clattered 
down the stony bridle-way, and out beyond the cor- 
ner of the grove, without noticing the white horse 
on which Theige sat as far in as possible among the 
trees. 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL. 


241 


“ I ’in sure of him, the morthial ould fiend ! ” said 
Theige to himself, “ but I must wait an’ ha\e the 
brother along with him. An’ here he comes ! ” he 
continued, as he wheeled round his horse, and point- 
ed his long pistol through a broken space among the 
trees at the head of the Gray Captain’s brother, who 
came thundering down with reckless speed by the 
side of the wood. 

“ There goes one ! ” exclaimed Theige fiercely, as 
he fired his pistol ; and down went the officer, shot 
through the brain, with a loud crash and clang on 
the rugged and broken way, his steed, with a shrill 
neigh of terror, clattering down the valley, and mak- 
ing his way at length fast and far down the scattered 
woods by the Black water side. 

“Now for the bravest an’ wickedest man o’ them 
all ! ” exclaimed Theige, as he gave his horse the 
spur. The Gray Captain at the same moment 
wheeled round his horse, and rushed up the bridle- 
path to meet him. As the two came near, the 
Captain, swerving his horse with a quick movement 
to the left, gave a back-handed slash of his sabre to 
Theige, which sheared off the crown-spike of his 
helmet, and went very near bringing him to the 
earth. 

“ A brave blow ! ” growled Theige between his 
clenched teeth, as he recovered himself, and, turning 
round his horse, trotted up warily to the spot where 
his foe stood on his guard awaiting him. But the 
Gray Captain’s scientific and too systematic guards, 
16 


242 


THE CHASE FROM THE HOSTEL . 


cuts, and parries proved now but of little avail against 
the quick and determined onset of the Rapparee; and 
he fell, just at the moment that his troop entered 
the topmost opening of the valley, and were rush- 
ing down to his assistance. 

“ By my sword ! ” said Theige, as he seized the 
bridle of his dead foeman’s horse and spurred away, 
“ but, man after man, if they come on this way, I’d 
have the horses of the whole troop before night.” 
He now put the two horses to their utmost speed, 
and soon distanced his pursuers. On turning out 
beyond a grove, by the river-side, he suddenly came 
upon his brother, Donogh, who stood quietly await- 
ing him, after capturing the horse that had borne 
the Gray Captain’s brother. 

“I towld you I’d come safe, Donogh,” said 
Theige, as they galloped off ; “ an’ by the .sowl o’ 
King Brian ! but the next time we go to Mallow, 
we’ll bring away with us the nate brass cannon that 
the ould Skavinger took from MacDonogh’s throops 
in the battle on the Inch.” 

On and on they spurred at a steady gallop till 
they found themselves far beyond pursuit, and at 
length, crossing a lonely ford of the Blackwater, re- 
gained their inaccessible haunt among the moun- 
tains, where that night Theige O’Cooney sang “ Moll 
Roone” to his admiring companions, and to his own 
heart’s content, beside his merry Rapparee camp-fire. 



The Whitethorn Tree. 


A LEGEND OF KILCOLMAN CASTLE. 


CHAPTER I. 

They washed the blood, with many a tear, 

From dint of dart and arrow, 

And buried him near the waters clear 
Of the brook of Alpuxarra. 

Spanish Ballad. 

T HE principal boundary between the counties 
of Cork and Limerick is that abrupt and 
boggy range called by Spenser the Mountains of 
Mole, but in the Irish denominated Sliabh Bally- 
houra, or the mountains of the dangerous ballaghs, 
or passes. To the west and south of this range, 
over many a broad plain and undulating valley, 
once spread the wild and romantic Forest of Kil- 
more. In the days of Elizabeth, and for nearly a 
century after, this forest sent out many off-shoots 
into the neighboring baronies. One of the most 
considerable of these branches, commencing near 
Buttevant, swept round the southern declivity of 

243 


244 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


the Ballyhouras, until at length it formed a junction 
with the great and intricate woody fastness of 
Aherlow, at the base of the Gaulty Mountains. 
Through it ran the beautiful Mulla, — now called 
Aubeg, — a short distance from which, on the shore 
of Lough Ullair, or the Eagle’s Lake, rose up the 
battlements of Kilcolman Castle, once the residence 
of the immortal Spenser. This castle anciently 
belonged to the Earls of Desmond ; but in July, 
1586, it was granted by the crown to Spenser, 
together with about three thousand acres of the 
surrounding country. Here Spenser wrote his 
“ Faerie Queen ; ” here — 

“ He sat, as was his trade, 

Under the foot of Mole, that mountain hoar, 
Keeping his sheep beneath the coolly shade 
Of the green alders by the Mulla’s shore, — 

when the “Shepherd of the Ocean,” Sir Walter 
Raleigh, visited him ; and here he remained until 
the October of 1598, when the Desmond Insurrec- 
tion broke out, and the castle was taken and burnt 
by the exasperated Irish. An infant son of his was 
burnt to death in the flames ; and Spenser himself, 
together with his wife and two other sons, narrowly 
escaped sharing the same fate, and fled to England, 
where, on the 16th of January, 1599, he died at 
Westminster, London. The castle is now a mere 
ruin ; but from the distance at which it can be seen, 
and its charming situation on a green knoll above 


THE WHITETHORN TREE . 


245 


the lake, it still forms a very picturesque and inter- 
esting feature in the landscape. 

It was a calm autumn evening, during the great 
insurrection which commenced in the year 1641. 
The waterfowl were quietly swimming on Lough 
Ullair ; and the rich sunbeams were bathing the 
castle in their mellow light, and showing distinctly 
out the black, stern traces of the fire which loosened 
and disfigured its walls nearly half a century before. 
Outside the castle all was brightness, life, and 
beauty; but inside, darkness and decay made their 
dwelling throughout all the deserted chambers ex- 
cept one, whose gloom was dispelled by a merry 
little charcoal fire, which burned like a luminous 
point on the huge fireplace. Two figures sat on a 
stone bench beside that fire : one, a tall, dark-com- 
plexioned woman, advanced in years ; the other, a 
young and handsome girl. The countenance of the 
latter showed the traces of recent weeping, but 
seemed beautiful even in its sorrow ; and its effect 
was brightened by the tresses of rich, amber-colored 
hair which fell in bright masses upon her shoulders, 
harmonizing sweetly with the graceful folds of her 
dress, as she sat turned towards her companion, who 
was in the act of addressing her. 

“You’ll not have him, you say. You’ll never 
more meet a truer or braver man. If you saw him, 
as I did, in battle, when he was surrounded near 
Glanore, an’ how gallantly he broke through that 
press o’ men, you’d change your mind soon an’ 
suddint.” 


246 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


“I cannot change my mind” answered the young 
girl : “ my mind an’ heart are made up, an’ true to 
another since I was a child ; an’ death itself cannot 
make me break the faith I plighted.” 

“Well, I know him too. But you see by this 
that you can never be his wife, for you’ll never see 
his face more. Take the man that suffered for you, 
an’ that got himself hunted, like a wild baste, 
through the mountains for your sake. If you don’t, 
you’ll have his etarnil revenge on you, an’ mine too, 
— an’ you know me well by this; an’ you must 
choose between bein’ his wife, an’ going into the 
arms o’ the Black Captain.” 

“ The Black Captain cannot be worse than your 
black brother. I’ll meet the fate that God wills me, 
an’ still be true to the man I love. Death will 
soon end my misery, if it comes to the worst.” 

At this moment a step was heard descending the 
spiral stair that led to the apartments above. The 
old creaking door opened, and the Black Captain 
himself stood before them. He was a man past the 
meridian of life, of an exceedingly dark complexion, 
and wearing the high hat, sober-colored cloak, and 
large, plain, iron-hilted sword, of a Puritan. 

“Hast thou told her,” he said, addressing the 
elder female, “ of the blissful life she is to lead with 
a warrior from among God’s . chosen ? Methinks 
thou must have a most persuasive tongue; for 
Reuben Sadface, my trusty man, knows by this the 
sore persuasion that dwells in thy clenched hands 
and finger-nails.” 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


247 


“ I’ve towld her all” answered the woman, sullen- 
ly, “ an’ she’s the same still. Ask herself.” 

“ I may not beatify my soul with such loving 
dalliance this eventide. A blessed and holy call, 
a war-call, has taken possession of my spirit for the 
moment. Even as Saul was commanded to slay the 
idolatrous nations, so am I chosen to purge by the 
agency of fire and steel the western valleys of their 
heathenish progeny ; and I must be gone. When the 
sword of the Lord shall have fallen upon those 
children of Baal, I shall return to tell what I have 
left unsaid to this, — this branch rescued from the 
burning, — this most fortunate of maidens.” 

“Alice O’Brien,” said the woman bitterly, when 
the Black Captain had left them, “ answer me this. 
Do you think I coaxed you up, an’ thrated you like 
as if you wor my own sisther, to be bate an’ baffled 
by you this way? Maybe you won’t be the show 
for all Murrogh an’ Theothawn’s * army, when the 
Black Captain has you in his crooks ! Maybe then 
you’ll wish to be back with me, and that you had 
made up your mind to have my brave brother 
Theige, my fine and cunnin’ damsel! ” 

“ I answer once more,” said Alice, “that I’ll have 
neither the Black Captain nor your brother Theige : 
I’ll die first. I put my trust in God; an’ perhaps 
my brother Moran an’ his comrade, John Mac- 
Sheehy, may come soon enough with theif horse- 
men, an’ set me free.” 

* 

* Murrogh the Burner, — the Earl of Inchiquin. 


248 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


“Your brother Moran an’ your sweetheart John 
have enough to do to keep their own carkisses safe, 
without mindin’ what’ll become o’ the likes o’ you. 
But never mind. Wait, an’ we’ll see what’ll come 
o’ this to-morrow.” 

A few hours after the departure of the Black 
Captain that evening, the setting sun was darting 
his red beams through the glades of the scattered 
forest by the banks of the beautiful Ounanar, a few 
miles eastward of Kilcolman Castle. The Ounanar 
is a wild stream, rising far up in the Ballyhoura 
Mountains, amid the bogs beyond Kilcolman, and 
flowing into the Mulla a short distance below 
Doneraile. In one of the most solitary glades 
beside the stream, the sunbeams were reflected by 
some not very unfrequent objects in those dreadful 
times, namely, the morion and accoutrements of a 
dead young soldier. He lay upon his back, with 
his right hand grasping the empty scabbard of his 
sword, and his left thrown upward threateningly, as 
if, in his last moments, he had endeavored to 
menace death or some other unwelcome visitor 
from his side. His head, cleft by a great wound, 
lay heavily upon the blood-stained grass; and his 
morion, also cleft, had fallen off, part hidden in the 
grass, and the top, or spike, glittering in the sun. 
As he lay thus, a raven from a neighboring tree 
perched upon a fragment of rock near him, and for 
a few moments regarded him with a wary and in- 
quisitive look; then, as if g&tisfied that there was 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


249 


no danger, it half opened its wings, and, hopping 
along the grass, alighted again upon the spike of 
the morion. It was, however, soon scared from its 
unsteady resting-place by a more rapacious ban- 
queter. A huge wolf rushed forth from the copse, 
and, with a voracious whine, laid its foremost paws 
upon the iron-clad but pulseless breast of the young 
man. Its long white teeth ground against the 
edge of his steel breastplate, its red eyes glared 
with ferocious satisfaction at the prospect of its 
savage meal, when it was in its turn also inter- 
rupted, but in a more fatal manner. A shot rang 
up from the river bank; and the wolf, wounded 
through the heart, fell backward, with claws and 
teeth tearing in its mortal agony a huge frieze cloak, 
or cape, which lay over the shoulders of the dead 
soldier. Before the echoes of the shot had died 
along the hollow banks of the stream, a horseman 
rode swiftly up the glade, and, leaping from his 
steed, plunged his sword through the body of the 
expiring wolf. 

The horseman was attired like the young soldier, 
whose body he had thus so opportunely rescued. 
On his head he wore a helmet, or morion, without 
a plume, but with a sharp steel spike projecting 
straight upwards from its crown. Over his shoulders, 
and reaching beyond his hips, hung a brown frieze 
cape, fastened at the throat by a silver clasp, and 
open somewhat in front, showing underneath a 
bright steel back-and-breast, or corselet. His 


250 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


trousers were colored like the cape and of the 
same material, the legs falling below into a pair of 
long, unpolished boots which reached to his knees, 
with .their formidable spurs, giving him the air of 
one by whom the saddle was very seldom aban- 
doned for a more quiet seat. From a belt around his 
waist, along with the usual skean, or dagger, hung 
the scabbard of his sword; and in his right hand he 
grasped the naked blade, while in his left he held 
the small musketoon which he had just discharged 
with so true an aim. He was young, somewhat 
above the middle height, and his bronzed, deter- 
mined face and fearless eye showed that he had 
seen both hardships and' dangers, and was ready to 
brave them again without concern. 

He advanced now, and stooped down, examining 
the features of the fallen youth. “Ha, Moran!” 
he exclaimed, suddenly, “ great God, how is this ? ” 
Then falling on his knees beside the body, he 
continued, “ O Moran ! my only friend, and the 
brother of my lost Alice, little I expected we’d 
meet thus ! Little did I think that ’twas your dead 
body I was saving from the jaws of the wild dog of 
the hills ! The battles are coming again, and the 
gallant gathering is by the walls of Castle na Doon ; 
but who will ride beside me like Moran O’Brien ? ” 

He started to his feet as if the thought maddened 
him, and commenced striding wildly up and down 
the glade. 

“Poor Ellen Roche too, who loved him so well! 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


251 


— little lier light heart dreams of this, — the black 
and woful news I’ll have to tell her at the dance 
to-morrow ! ” 

He once more approached the body, and, examin- 
ing it more minutely, found a bullet-wound in the 
throat, which, with the severed helmet and the 
long gash upon the head, made him suspect that 
the unfortunate young soldier had come by his 
death unfairly. Then, as if his suspicions had 
lighted upon some individual, and that he deter- 
mined to wreak immediate vengeance, he took the 
body in his arms, and deposited it in a deep, narrow 
rent between two rocks near the stream ; and cov- 
ering it with some leafy boughs, and a few long 
stone flags, in order to preserve it from the wolves, 
at that period so numerous in the country, he mut- 
tered sorrowfully a few prayers, mounted his steed, 
and departed. 

After crossing the river, and riding along its 
eastern shore somewhat more than a mile, he 
turned his horse’s head towards the southern flank 
of a steep mountain, strewn with great bowlders of 
rock, which, as the twilight now darkened over the 
hills to help the illusion, rose up from the solitary 
heath, bare and spectral, like the deserted and mel- 
ancholy ruins of an ancient city. A number of 
these lay congregated in an irregular ridge near the 
summit; and here the young horseman alighted, and, 
leading his steed noiselessly along the soft turf, 
stood at length beside a huge, broad rock, so flat and 


252 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


low that it scarcely reached above the brushwood 
and long heath that grew around. Underneath it, 
at one side, there was a small entrance, or opening, 
through which a confused jumble of voices now fell 
upon the horseman’s ear; while a clear stream of 
light also shot forth, and brightened the scarred 
and weather-beaten face of a crag that rose hard 
by. Peering cautiously through another and a 
smaller chink, he beheld, what he indeed sought for, 
a group inside; the individuals of which corre- 
sponded exactly in appearance with the strange 
place they had chosen for their habitation. 

In the corner of a small apartment irregularly 
formed by a rent in the crag, and having for its 
roof the lower surface of the flat rock mentioned 
above, sat before a bright fire of blazing bog-deal 
three figures, as different in appearance from each 
other as could be consistent with the fact that each 
formed a member of the great human family. He 
who sat between the other two was a man in the 
prime of life and of gigantic stature ; his long, mat- 
ted beard and hair falling almost on his breast and 
shoulders, and a reddish cap, with a sprig of blos- 
somed whitethorn for- a plume, set somewhat cav- 
alierly, but fiercely, on his head. His prominent, 
beard-covered chin, and thin, beaked nose, gave to 
his wild physiognomy a sinister expression, which 
was increased by a pair of gloomy eyes bent sternly 
on the person at his right, whom he was in the 
act of addressing. He was enveloped in a soiled 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


253 


scarlet cloak,, which lay closely round his upright 
figure, and fell in folds behind him upon the block 
of stone on which he sat ; showing a pair of long, 
frieze-clad legs, and feet encased in great brogues, 
with low heels, made so in order not to impede his 
progress over the quagmires and bogs of which he 
was so often a denizen. Such was the figure of 
Theige Foiling Dearg, or Timothy of the Red Cloak, 
— the dweller by the Fairy Thorn-tree of Glananar. 
He to the right, to whom Theige of the Red Cloak 
gave in his conversation the title of Theige Cu 
Allee, or Theige the Wolf, had full and ample 
claims, in appearance at least, to that sylvan cogno-* 
men. He was of dwarfish height, but, at the same 
time, so brawny and broad-shouldered as to have, 
as he sat with his short legs stretched out and hid- 
den among some green heath, the appearance of a 
giant ogre, sunk to his middle in the earth. His 
mouth, the most prominent part of his features, was 
garnished with an irregular set of large teeth, which 
gave him, when he either laughed or sneered, some 
resemblance to a snarling wolf. He wore a cap and 
loose frieze coat, open in front, and showing a broad, 
hairy chest, not unused, if one could judge from the 
wild expression of the face, to heave with many a 
storm of vindictive passion. Their comrade was, 
in form certainly, a direct opposite to both. His 
features were regular and handsome ; he appeared, 
as he sat, a little below the middle size, and very 
slenderly formed; but there was a wiriness about 


254 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


liis whole frame, and something in his dark, saga- 
cious eye, that told him no mean antagonist, with 
that long skean he wore at his side, in a single en- 
counter or in the confusion of a battle. His clothes 
fitted better than Cu Allee’s, but were of the same 
material. He answered his companions with the 
utmost self-complacency, wdien they addressed him 
in their discourse by the enviable title of Theige na 
Meerval, or Timothy of the Wonders, — a name to 
which he had, at the moment, strong claims, from 
the miraculous facility with which he disposed of 
some large fragments of beef he had boiled upon the 
bog-deal embers. Various instruments of warfare 
were strewn around them, demonstrating, that, in all 
circumstances excepting that of a blockade, the 
citadel could be held for a longtime and against 
considerable odds. They appeared to be engaged 
in some very interesting conversation. 

“ For hurself, ” said he of the Red Cloak, “ hur 
would rather see the Sassenachs with their spurs in 
their horses’ flanks, an’ their soords in their hands, 
nor to see them slinking behind stone garrisons, like 
foxes in the crags of Ullair.” 

“Yes,” said Cu Allee, in his native tongue, 
“wherever the Sassenach goes, there is rich booty ; 
and, for me, there was once sweeter booty, — plenty 
of revenge.” 

“ Hur often heerd Cu Allee whisperin’ an’ cug- 
gerin’, in hur sleep an’ in hur wake, about that re- 
venge, but never heerd how ’twas got.” 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


255 


“’Twas got,” said the Man of Wonders, pointing 
to a suspicious-looking bundle of twisted osiers by 
the side of Cu Allee, “ ’twas got, I’m sartin, in the 
ould way, by the gad an’ the cross-sticks.” 

“ ’Twas got,” exclaimed' Cu Allee fiercely, “ on 
the day that Murrogh an’ Theothawn’s captain, with 
his guard about him, gave into my hands Rory 
Finn, the black and cursed ruiner of my young sis- 
ter. The clink of the Sassenach’s gold jvas sweet ; 
but far sweeter was Rory’s groan to my ears, when 
he knew his time was come. We placed the cross- 
sticks beneath the walls of Kilcolman ; and I — I 
faced Black Rory towards the darkened home and 
the churchyard where she slept near, and sent him, 
for good or forbad, to follow her to his last account. 
Many is the gad I twisted about the neck of Gael 
and Sassenach ; but the one that finished my mortal 
foe, Rory Finn, — and I have it here beside me, — 
was the most precious of all.” 

“Hurself would take it by the strong hand an’ 
the sharp soord, as hur did last night,” rejoined 
Foiling Dearg. 

“Or,” said the Man of Wonders, holding out his 
long, bright skean in his hand, “or by manes o’ 
this, as a sartin person did not long ago in Kilken- 
ny. Listen ; for it is one o’ the charmin’ things that 
brought me into the sarvice o’ the prayer-canters, 
— the bloody, timber-faced Parliaminthers. I was 
standin’ in a sthreet in Kilkenny, before the doore 
of a big forge where the smiths from home an’ from 


256 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


furrin parts wor hammerin’ an’ sledgin’ away at 
soorcls an’ pikes an’ armor an’ skeans, the dead 
brother o’ this I hould in my hand. I was standin’, 
doin’ a few tricks o’ sleight-o’-hand, an’ givin’ a few 
summersets in the way o’ my business ; an’ the 
smiths, with their black faces an’ brawny arms, wor 
beginnin’ to throw away their hammers an’ sledges, 
an’ come to the doores an’ windows, lookin’ at me, 
when who should come along at the other side o’ 
the street but a grand bishop, or cardinal, with five or 
six big fellows, like sogers, walkin’, some behind him 
an’ some before, with drawn soords in their hands. 
He looks at the smiths all idle, an’ the arms wantin’ 
so much for the war ; an’ he looks at me playin’ my 
capers in the street. He said somthin’ to the men 
in a furrin language ; an’ three o’ them made over 
to me, an’ laid hoult o’ me worse than if I was 
caught in a* big vise in one o’ the forges, an’ then 
banged and bate me with their sword handles off o’ 
the street. I said nothin’, but followed them for a 
while, till the man that laid hoult on me first was 
sent on a message beyond one o’ the gates o’ the 
town-wall. I waited in the porch for the bloody 
villain ; an’, when he was cornin’ past me, I gave 
this sportin’ skean o’ mine a nate night’s lodgin’ in 
his side, an’ fled for my life, an’ won the race like a 
man.” 

One part of this most edifying conversation, 
namely, Foiling Dearg’s allusion to his deed of the 
preceding night, interested the listener outside not 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


257 


a little, wanting, as he did, to find some clue to the 
death of his comrade ; but it seemed, on the present 
occasion, he had business of even more importance 
t o himself to transact with these worthies ; so, mak- 
ing a slight noise as a signal of his approach, he 
walked round to the large aperture in order to 
enter. Na Meerval, when they heard the sound in- 
side, crept out with the agility of a weasel, through 
the small chink; so, when the young horseman 
entered, he was somewhat surprised at finding only 
two inside. 

“I thought,” said he to Foiling Dearg, the moment 
he had entered, “ that Na Meerval sat by your side 
now.” 

“Na Meerval stands by your side,” answered 
Foiling Dearg, eyeing the visitor darkly. 

That lively personage, having entered at the 
large aperture as stealthily as he before made his 
exit, stood close at the side of the horseman. 

“Theige Na Meerval is here,” said he. “When 
he found the fern-seed by the Robber’s Well, the 
Shee Geeha became his comrade ; for he could make 
himself be seen or not be seen, whenever he took it 
into his head, Shane na Shrad knew this before, I 
think.” 

Shane na Shrad, or John of the Bridle, — a name, 
by the way, which the young soldier had got in 
consequence of his feats of horsemanship, — was too 
sharp-witted to be deceived so readily. 

17 


258 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


“ Shane na Shrad knows,” he said, “ that there is 
a chink, besides the door, in this cavern.” 

“ Fwhat does hur come for now?” queried Foi- 
ling Dearg, who, although he pretty well knew the 
purport of the visit, wanted to obtain some infor- 
mation from John of the Bridle. “ To-morrow is 
hur great day by the walls of Caishlean na Doon ; 
but Theige Foiling Dearg knows, that, like a flock 
of wild ducks from the springs, the Gael will be 
scatthered soon by Murrogh of the Burnings and 
his brave Sassenachs.” 

“ Murrogh and his starved wolves are not likely 
to do so at present,” said John of the Bridle. 
“You, I know, and your two comrades, are on the 
scent for news, to be paid for it by the gold of Black 
Murrogh of Inchiquin. We keep it no secret that 
before long we’ll be passing the Bridge of Done- 
raile; and you and .its defenders may dream of 
what’s to follow, while our troopers are dancing 
with the girls for a day or two besid'e the green 
woods of Castle na Doon.” 

“In my mind,” said ISTa Meerval, “some o’ them 
will caper a quarer dance in a short time, undher a 
kind o’ three where they’ll have only the wind for a 
floor, an’ Cu Allee’s thrue-lover’s knot about their 
necks.” 

Cu Allee, although he principally exercised his 
genius in the enviable profession of a skibbioch, or 
hangman, never relished a jibe, however, on that 
score. 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


259 


“ Cu Allee’s knot,” he exclaimed, “ was once round 
your neck; and, only he let you practise your 
sleight-of-hand u23on it, you’d dance the skibbioch’s 
jig. But the next time ! ” 

“No more of this,” said John of the Bridle. “I 
came,” he continued, addressing Foiling Dearg, 
“that you may now redeem the promise you gave 
me when we last met among the mountains. Where 
is Alice O’Brien ? ” 

Foiling Dearg’s face darkened as he spoke. “ Hur 
has searched hill-side an’ coom an’ town an’ forest 
since for a colleen with a thrue heart, like the one 
you towld hur of, but never found one since. May- 
be the Black Sassenach captain could tell all about 
hur.” 

“ Is this, then,” said the horseman, “ the way you 
pay me for giving you your life when the troopers 
were about cutting you in pieces, and Moran O’Brien 
standing with his skean at your throat ? ” 

Foiling Dearg laid his hand on his skean, as if to 
guard against the consequences of what he was 
about to say. “Iss, maybe Moran O’Brien knows 
by this what it is to put a skean to a brave man’s 
throat, an’ threaten him with death. An’ Alice, 
hur is false to Shane na Shrad as well as to — to 
Foiling Dearg; an’,” he continued, with a deadly 
and vindictive sneer upon his lip, “hur can now 
smile upon the Black Captain in the camp-tents o’ 
Murrogh the Burner.” 

“Ljing villain,” exclaimed the horseman, “her® 


260 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


is payment for your treachery.” And, suddenly 
drawing out his sword, he struck Foiling Dearg 
with its pummel upon the forehead. Foiling Dearg 
reeled, and fell among the heath in the corner of 
the cavern. But, recovering in a moment, he sprang 
to his feet with the fury and agility of a panther, 
and, seizing a long sword that lay against the wall 
beside him, struck at the horseman a blow that 
would have gone, spite of guard and helmet, to his 
brain, had not the blade, as it swang upwards, come 
against the low roof of the cave, and shivered into 
a hundred fragments. At this mbment, and while 
both were preparing to dash again at each other, 
the two hopeful spectators of the encounter rushed 
between them. 

“We’ll have no more fightin’ to-night,” said the 
Man of Wonders: “Shane na Shrad saved Cu 
Allee’s life, an’, afther that, Cu Allee saved my life ; 
so ’tis Shane I must thank that all the ravens in the 
country haven’t me in their hungry craws at pres- 
ent. So we’ll stand to Shane na Shrad this time, 
an’ have no bloodshed to-night in our nate an’ pace- 
ful little castle.” 

“ Stand to hur, then,” said Foiling Dearg ; and, 
with that, he sprung, skean in hand, at the horse- 
man. But he missed his aim; for, at the same 
moment, Cu Allee threw his long arms around his 
knees, and dragged him by main force to the other 
corner of the cave, where, with his face streaming 
blood, he stood struggling and glaring like a wound- 
ed wolf upon his antagonist. 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


261 


“Leave us,” cried Cu Allee, his wrath kindling 
with his exertions, w leave us, I say, or curp an’ 
dhoul ! there will be soon blood enough upon this 
floor.” 

“I go, then,” said the horseman, perhaps not 
depending on the sincerity of their promise to stand 
to him in the quarrel ; “ but remember, Foiling 
Dearg, that Shane na Shrad’s vow of vengeance 
was never made in vain ” And, with that, he de- 
parted from the cavern, mounted his steed, and left 
the trio to their pleasant converse inside. 

The moon had now risen over the hills, and gave 
him light as he pursued his way through a pass on 
the eastern flank of the mountain he was just about 
to ascend. At the furthest extremity of the pass 
he reined in his horse for a time, to gaze on a scene 
that opened on his view. Beneath him, in the calm 
moonlight, and checkered with the remains of an 
ancient forest, lay the undulating and romantic val- 
ley of Cloghanofty, witli the dark fort of Castle na 
Doon rising on a height at one side ; and the Oun 
na Geerit, or River of the Champion, after descend- 
ing the mountain range opposite the castle, winding 
in many a silver coil through the low, marshy 
grounds and indistinct woodlands. Further on, a 
vista opened between a wood-clad hill on one side, 
and the ruin-crowned height of Ardpatrick on the 
other ; showing the level plain of Limerick veiled in 
a light blue mist, through which river and height 
and castle peered out, like the indistinct and 


262 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


varying panorama of a dream. But what most 
attracted the attention of the young soldier was a 
number of fires which glimmered redly upon the 
lawn that spread before the dark castle beneath 
him. They -were the watch-fires of the cavalry who 
made their camp here, waiting to join Lord Castle- 
haven, who was marching at this time at the head 
of a well-appointed Irish army from the county of 
Tipperary. John of the Bridle, after descending 
from the pass, entered a small but neatly-kept cot- 
tage, at the end of the straggling village of Fannys- 
towu. His mother, a light-haired, good-humored 
looking matron, the daughter of an English settler, 
stood up as he entered ; and, expressing her glad- 
ness at his safe return, told a little boy, who sat 
luxuriously in the corner by the fire, to see after her 
son’s horse. 

“ Wisha ! ” said the urchin, with a groan of tribu- 
lation, as he went out, “’tis horses an’ horses for- 
ever. I never stopt all day but houldin’ horses for 
them father-long-legs o’ cavalthry, an’ now I must 
be at it agin. I liked their prancin’ an’ gambadin’ 
first well enough, but afther to-day my likin’ for it is 
spilt entirely.” 

The young soldier sat ruefully by the fire; and, 
turning to his mother, told her of the failure of his 
search for Alice O’Brien, and of the death of her 
brother Moran. These were times when death 
was of but small account in the mind of either man 
or woman ; and John’s mother was more apprehen- 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


263 


sive for the safety of her son than shocked or fright- 
ened at the death of his comrade. 

“I would wish, John,” she said, “that you had 
long ago given up your mad ideas about that silly 
wench, Alice'. Was it not better ‘that you had 
taken my advice on the matter, when you could 
mate better with Amy, Neighbor Holton’s daugh- 
ter?” 

“N*>, mother,” said John: “I have the hot Irish 
blood of my father running in my veins, and I will 
have full vengeance for the death of my comrade. 
I have obeyed you in every thing else ; but ask me 
not to give up Alice, for it is useless. To-morrow 
will, I hope, bring me some news of her fate.” 

The morrow w r as shining in all the glory of sum- 
mer upon the woody dells of Fannystown, and the 
gray hills that towered above them ; but with the 
new day and its many incidents it is better to com- 
mence a new chapter. 


CHAPTER II 

Until yellow Autumn shall usher the Paschal day, 

And Patrick’s gay festival come in its train alway ; 

Until through my coffin the blossoming boughs shall grow, 
My love on another I’ll never in life bestow. 

E. Walsh. 

Fannystown was at this time what was called 
a protected village; that is, the soldiers of the 
Government, though often resting there, were not 


264 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


permitted to plunder its inhabitants. It would, 
however, probably have been plundered and de- 
stroyed, had it not been such a convenient resting 
and camping place, situated as it was in the most 
dangerous, yet most easily defended, pass between 
the plains of Cork and Limerick. It consisted of a 
long line of mud-built houses at one side of the pub- 
lic way ; lowly dwellings indeed, but at the same 
time so thickly planted that it gave one the notion, 
w T hen on some important day the inhabitants were 
astir, of a row of beehives, with all their busy 
denizens moving to and fro at the commencement 
of their morning avocations. Behind the village, 
upon a height, stood the mansion of Sir John Pon- 
sonby, looking down upon the bright waters of the 
Oun na Geerait, — a stream rising in a deep gorge 
between the mountains, and dancing by many a 
wild dell and picturesque hollow until it lost its 
waters in the rapid Puncheon. The square, loop- 
holed turrets at the corners of the mansion showed 
that its owner had not neglected the defence 
wanted so much in those stormy times; but the 
rows of bow -windows in the front, facing the 
stream, gave it a gay appearance, W'hich contrasted 
strangely with the aspect of its stern neighbor at 
the other side of the valley, — the compact Castle 
of the Fort ; or, as it was named by the surround- 
ing people, Caishlan na Doon. This was one of 
those tall, square keeps, so many of which still 
frown from their rocky sites along the neighboring 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


265 


plain ; telling in their decay, with as much certainty 
as the pen of the historian, of the troublous times 
in which they were built, and the domestic habits 
of the warring races to whom they owed their 
foundations. It is now considerably increased in 
dimensions by additions suited to the present day, 
and has rather a modernized appearance; but part 
of the original building still remains. At the time 
of the following events, it was inhabited by Sir 
Edward Fitzharris, a Catholic gentleman, who, like 
his neighbor, Sir John Ponsonby, favored the prin- 
ciples of the Confederation of Kilkenny. 

It was high noon when John of the Bridle dashed 
his horse across the stream, and rode up towards 
the camp upon the lawn before Castle na Doon. 

“ Monom ! why is she so long, an 5 the curnil axin 
for her ? ” said an old war-worn trooper, who stood 
guard at the entrance of the camp. 

“The news I have to tell him will be likely 
to set you and your comrades at work, Diarmid,” 
answered John of the Bridle. “ Here, Jemmy,” he 
continued, addressing a wild, elfish-looking little 
urchin, — the same who had seen to his horse’s com- 
fort on the preceding night, — “ take this bridle, and 
hold my horse till I come out; and, mind, no gallop- 
ing this time, for, I fear, the poor fellow will get 
enough to-day.” Jemmy, whose gusto for horseflesh, 
notwithstanding his heart-rending complaints on the 
evening before, was increased with tenfold strength 
during the morning, took the bridle; and scarcely 


266 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


was the horseman out of sight behind the tents when 
he was up, like a cat, in the saddle, and careering 
with unheard-of speed over the lawn. 

John of the Bridle entered the castle, and was led 
by another sentinel up a dark, winding stair into a 
gloomy-looking chamber, where the colonel who 
commanded the cavalry, with a few officers, sat plan- 
ning busily their future movements. 

“ The general will be here with the whole army 
in a few days,” said the colonel: “and, on the faith 
of a soldier! I wish we may see him sooner; for I like 
not sitting, like a hermit, here when there is so much 
to be done for our brave fellows. Ha ! ” continued 
he, turning to John, as he entered, “here comes our 
worthy scout ; perchance he may inform us how the 
Burner and his canting vagabonds are preparing for 
our onslaught. The passes towards St. Leger’s den 
are free for the expedition on to-morrow, young 
man ? ” 

“ The passes are clear enough, colonel ; but, as I 
rode yesterday through the forest by Doneraile, a 
shot from a falconet was near ending my outriding. 
There are three more on the battlements of St. 
Leger’s Castle, and the walls are thronged with 
men.” 

“ I trust,” rejoined the colonel, “ to the broad 
mouths of our long field-pieces to silence them ; but 
God knows how we shall circumvent those rieving 
villians who yet hang on our march. Hast thou seen 
that murdering troop that burned the two western 
hamlets ? ” 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


267 


“No, colonel : they are fled towards the Kerry 
border. Another small troop I saw coming out 
from Doheraile, and preparing to scour the hills ; but 
they’ll meet but a sorry welcome from the wild 
horsemen of Ballyhoura.” 

The colonel here took a sealed packet from the 
table, and put it into the hands of the young horse- 
man. “Thy services,” he said, “will merit the re- 
ward thou seekest. Deliver this safely to the 
Governor of Kilmallock, and thou shall have thy 
commission as captain of thy troop, and that sjDeedi- 
ly. I know of no other,” said he, addressing the 
officers, as John of the Bridle was led down stairs by 
the sentinel, — “I know of none who so marvellously 
finds his way through those cursed bogs and scroggy 
passes, and who hath such a goodly share of true 
courage, as that young man.” 

As John turned his horse in the direction of Kil- 
mallock, he thought of the events of the preceding 
day, and how Ellen Roche would bear the news of 
her lover’s death. “ But I cannot be at the dance,” 
he said, giving his horse the spur, “ if I don’t make 
my way quicker than this.” 

At the back of Fannystown village was a green in 
a hollow, through the midst of which ran the Oun 
na Geerait, after emerging from a narrow, tangled 
glen at the foot of the mountain. The slope around 
it was clothed with scattered brushwood ; and, where 
it lost itself in the level space at one side, rose an 
aged and giant elm-tree, around the trunk of which 


268 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


the villagers, with some of the horsemen from the 
camp, were thronging to hear the strains of a gray- 
haired piper, who talked and laughed among them as 
merrily as if he was in the very heyday of his youth. 
Around him were gathered the girls and young men 
of the village, with an occasional trooper, looking 
for partners, and arranging themselves in two rows 
facing each other, in order to commence the RinJcey- 
fodha , or long dance, a figure much resembling the 
contra-dances of the present day : while outside and 
half surrounding the group sat the more aged 
dwellers of the hamlet ; and beyond, upon the green, 
stood the children in little groups, looking with 
gleeful and expectant faces for the commencement of 
the amusements. The long dance was ended, and 
many an intricate and merry measure danced after- 
wards by separate groups of four each : at length, a 
weariness seemed to fall upon them, and they sat 
around the piper, entreating him to play some of 
those slow, wild tunes so peculiar to the country. 
Among the supplicants for the tune was a dark-eyed 
young girl, who accompanied her request with so 
sweet a smile that the old man commenced at once 
tuning his pipes, with a variety of running tones, 
which, to the children at least, proved precursors of the 
most delicious and enchanting melody. This young 
maiden was Ellen Eoche, the betrothed of Moran 
O’Brien ; but who little knew, amid the gladness that 
reigned around her, of the miseries awaiting her, and 
of the sad doom of her lover. Her black hair fell 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


269 


in shining masses upon her pretty shoulders, setting 
off a light and graceful figure, and a sweet face, to 
which the brilliant and dark eyes gave an expression 
at once animated and lovely. 

“ Wirrasthru ! ” said the piper: “my ould fingers 
are almost as stiff as that long soord o’ Jack Flana- 
gan’s there. But every thing’s gettin stiff, as dhrunk- 
en Bill Breen said, when his wife refused to swally a 
whole barrelful of ale in one dhrink. Well, I had 
my day out o’ the world at any rate.” And, so say- 
ing, he struck up an ancient Irish march, or war-tune, 
with such effect that the eyes of the young strip- 
lings around him began to sparkle, and even the 
hands of the wild troopers began to move instinct- 
ively towards their sword -hilts ; so easily, were 
the rugged and simple natures of those tipies and 
scenes moved and excited by the power of the musi- 
cian. 

“ Come, an’ sit down here by my side, my sweet 
flower,” said he, addressing Ellen Roche, when the 
war-tune was ended. “ Come, an’ ’I’ll play up your 
favorite tune ; an’ — whisht, ye rantin’ divils ! — an’ 
you’ll sing the ould song I larned you long ago, 
about the young tlirooper, — anater fellow than any 
o’ ye’ll ever be anyhow, ye tarin’ thieves,” he con- 
tinued, turning to the horsemen. Ellen sat upon 
the bank beside him ; and, when the talk was silenced, 
he commenced to play a singularly sweet old tune, 
which the young maiden accompanied in a soft and 
tender voice, with the words of an Irish ballad, of 


270 


THE W HITE THO JIN TREE . 


which the following may be taken as a transla- 
tion : — 

“JOHNNY DUNLEA. 

“ There’s a tree in the greenwood I love best of all, — 

It stands by the side of Easmor’s haunted fall, — 

For there, while the sunset fell bright far away, 

Last I met ’neath its branches my Johnny Dunlea. 

Oh ! to see his fine form, as he rode down the. hill. 

While the red sunlight glowed on his helmet of steel. 
With his broadsword and charger, so gallant and gay, 

On that evening of woe for my Johnny Dunlea 1 

He stood by my side ; and the love-smile he wore 
Still brightens my heart, tho’ ’twill beam never more. 
’Twas to have but one farewell, then speed to the fray : 
’Twas a farewell for ever, my Johnny Dunlea! 

For the fierce Saxon soldiers lay hid in the dell, 

And burst on our meeting with wild savage yell ; 

But their dark leader’s life-blood I saw that sad day, 

And it stained the good sword of my Johnny Dunlea. 

My curse on the traitor ! my curse on the ball 
That stretched my true love by Easmor’s haunted fall ! 
Oh ! the blood of his brave heart ebbed quickly away, 
And he died in my arms there, my Johnny Dunlea! ” 

Alas ! little thought the fair singer at the moment, 
that her own was a fate like that of the poor maiden 
of the song. During the song, had any person 
looked behind where the branches of the elm-tree 
drooped against the slope, they might have seen a 
pair of bright, cunning eyes peering out between the 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


271 


leaves of the copse at the person of the singer. 
There was an expression in those weasel eyes that 
boded no good An Ellen Roche : but the pair, 
bright and keen as they were, had not the fortune to 
belong to a weasel; they were the property of a 
handsome and nimble-looking little man, who lay 
upon his breast, gazing thus, but well concealed from 
the observation of the villagers. The moment the 
song was ended, and, while the attention of all was 
taken up in giving the due meed of applause, the 
little man swung himself cautiously into a projecting 
branch of the elm-tree ; and moving noiselessly along 
the gnarled limbs, as if he had learned the method 
from a squirrel, he perched himself for a moment 
among the thick leaves upon another branch which 
drooped over the centre of the throng below. Sud- 
denly he let himself drop into the midst of the circle ; 
and, before any one knew how he had come there, he 
had performed half a dozen “ summersets ” upon the 
green. 

“ Theige na Meerval ! Theige na Meerval ! ” cried 
the delighted children. 

“Theige na Meerval himself !” exclaimed their 
elders. “ Honom an’ dhoul! but I believe lie’s 
after failin’ out o’ the sky.” 

“ Thundher-an-ages, no ! ” said a trooper. “ Doesn’t 
every mother’s sowl o’ ye know that he’s invisible 
when he likes, an’ can walk invisible into the centre 
o’ people ; an’ wid one touch make himself be seen 
agin by every person, in one morthial minnit?” 


272 


THE WHITETHORN TREE 


“ I did fall out o’ the sky,” said the Man of Won- 
ders, at the same time cutting a few capers that blend- 
ed their surprise with immense merriment. “ Where 
is the use in me bein’ enchanted, if I cannot circum- 
vint myself into a blast o’ wind when I likes ? ” 

The strains of the poor piper were now neglected ; 
and all thronged around the showman, — for that was 
his particular and favorite profession, — and began to 
press still closer, with open mouths, and faces of 
wonder and expectancy. Na Meerval now took a 
strangely-made knife from his pocket, and com- 
menced to show off some of his feats. Suddenly he 
stooped till his face almost touched the ground; 
and, amidst innumerable “ Monoms ! ” “Dhar Dias ! ” 
and “ Hiernas ! ” from the astonished bystanders, 
jerked himself up straight again, with the blade of the 
knife sticking upwards through his tongue. He now 
beckoned for more space ; and, when lie found suffi- 
cient, he stooped forward with his hands resting on 
the ground, and, springing over, stood upon his feet 
again, holding the knife aloft in his hand. 

“ Ha, ha!” he exclaimed, “if all o’ ye used your 
knives that way, maybe ’tis little soft talk ye’d be 
able to give the girls afterwards. Did ye ever hear 
where I wint the first time I made myself invisible ? 
Divil a place would plaise me but Spain, to lain 
magic from an ould anshint thief, that was as great 
as two pickpockets with the Ould Oganach * himself. 
He could see me when no one else could ; an’ I stopt 


* The Devil, 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


273 


with him ’till the murtherin’ ould thief turned me 
away out of invy, when he saw I was batin’ out him- 
self. Howsomdever, I’ll show ye somethin’ that he 
lamed me.” And, so saying, he raised his hand, and, 
apparently to his audience, struck himself lightly on 
the mouth. A volume of bluish smoke, accompanied 
with bright sparks, issued suddenly from between 
his open jaws; at the appearance of which the specta- 
tors, so delighted were they at the marvel, set up a 
wild shout of applause and wonder. 

“ There is one thing, howsomdever,” said he again, 
“that every person bates me at, — gamin’.” And 
walking to a smooth stone, which served for a seat, 
he drew from his pocket a dice-box, and laid it beside 
him. “Now,” continued he, turning to the troop- 
ers, at the same time laying two silver coins upon the 
stone, “ ye were paid not long ago, an’ here is a 
flamin’ fine time to make the forthin’ of every livin’ 
sowl among ye.” 

“ I made my forthin’ once in the sackin’ of a town, 
an’ lost agin every jinglerof it in battle; an’ now 
gamin’ won’t remake it for me,” said a huge, stern- 
looking trooper, with the marks of a great sword-cut 
across his face. 

“ W ell, purshuin’ to me, do you hear that ? ” said 
a jolly, careless fellow, who was already seated by Na 
Meerval’s side, with the dice-box rattling in his hand, 
and his stake down: “Mun Callaghan, that would 
sell himself to a certain curious gintleman undlier- 
nathe us, body an’ bones an’ sowl, for money, sayin’ 
18 


274 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


now that there is no varthue in gamin’ ! ” So say- 
ing, he threw and won. This good fortune made 
others eager for the play, till, after various games, 
most of the troopers found the few coins they pos- 
sessed since the last pay-day comfortably transferred 
to the pockets of Ha Meerval. He now turned to 
Mun Callaghan. 

“ You see I’m richer now than when I began. 
Come, an’ larn the sweet an’ inchantin’ mystheries o’ 
the dice-box. Play, man, play ; an,’ as you’re so fond 
o’ the money, maybe you’d win it all back again.” 

“I will not play,” answered Mun, in an angry 
tone. 

“ Yerrah ! man, can’t you take one chance?” said 
his comrades. “ The divil resave the much we’re at 
a loss anyhow ; for, like yourself, ’tis little we had to 
lose. Ructions to us, man ! why don’t you play ? ” 

“Bekaise I have an’ ouldan’ wake mother beyont 
the hills, wid no one to purtect her, ^n’ who wants 
what I can give her out o’ my pay, — not to have me 
lose id gamin’,” answered Mun bitterly. This pro- 
duced a laugh among the more careless of his com- 
rades; and the Man of Wonders, emboldened by the 
merriment, overstepped seemingly his usual cautious- 
ness. 

“Yarrah!” said he, “maybe ’twas batin’ you with 
a sthraw ora rish for yourconthrairy doins your ould 
mother was that put that tattherin’ glin of a wound 
acrass your face. ” The answer was a blow from the 
ponderous fist of Mun, which sent Na Meerval spin- 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


275 


ning, like a cork, along the green. The blow, however, 
certainly stunned him somewhat less than he pre- 
tended. 

“ Oh ! ” said he, as if waking from a deadly swoon, 
and still lying extended on the grass, “ I’m done in 
airncst at last, — kilt unnathrally. Here is my brain 
spinnin’ round an’ round, like a wheel-o’-forthin,’ — 
the rale sign o’ death. Oh ! ” And he sank apparent- 
ly into a swoon again, while the villagers gathered 
round him in instant commiseration of his hard 
fate. “Is there any good Christhian,” he exclaimed, 
reviving once more, — “ is there any good an’ chari- 
table Christhian that would lade me to their home 
till I die in pace? My brain ! my brain! Lade me 
up to Moureen Roche’s, the ould widow o’ the hollow, 
where I often slept before. Is that Ellen Roche 
I see ? Lade me, up a colleen dhas , ’till I die in 
pace.” 

He now stood up, but tottered ; and Ellen Roche, 
coming forward, caught him by the arm, and, assisted 
by one of the young men, began to lead him up to 
where her mother’s house stood in a lonely hollow 
some distance up the glen. After going a few perch- 
es, Na Meerval seemed to get somewhat stronger, 
and told the young man that he could reach the 
house with the help of Ellen Roche. The young 
man, possessed altogether with the idea of his sweet- 
heart, whom he saw looking w T ith a jealous eye after 
him, turned back willingly, just as Mun Callaghan, 
with many a reproach ringing in his ears, was stalk- 


276 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


ing off towards the camp. The incident was, how- 
ever, soon forgotten in a short time, and the dance 
renewed as merrily as ever. 

In the mean time Ellen Roche, with Na Meerval 
behind her, led the way towards her home, ’till they 
reached a lonely spot where the path crossed the glen ; 
and here, instead of dying in peace as he promised, the 
Man of Wonders sprang at the unsuspecting girl, 
and, before she could scream for help, tied a kerchief 
round her face, which rendered her unable either to 
see, or call for assistance. He now gave a low whistle ; 
and, at the signal, his two comrades of the cave 
stepped out from a dark nook in the side of the glen. 
Ellen Roche, unlike the majority of heroines, did 
not faint at once, but, like the brave girl that she was, 
resisted to the utmost the efforts of the three, as 
they bore her through the forest towards the pass 
leading between the mountains, till at length, entire- 
ly exhausted, she sank into a passive kind of stu- 
por, in which she continued until the kerchief was 
taken off her face. 

On opening her eyes, she found herself in a nar- 
row recess between two rocks, which, by way of 
rendering it habitable, was roofed with boughs of 
oak, and thatched over with bundles of heath and 
fern. It was situated on the side of a deep glen, 
through which the bright, bog-tinted stream rushed 
downward with a hollow murmur ; and its entrance 
opened towards a wide moor, whose undulating ex- 
panse stretched out, drear and lonely, until it termi- 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


' 277 


nated in a low range of dark hills to the west. Out- 
side the door of the hut, the eyes of the young girl 
fell upon two objects, each remarkable in its appear- 
ance, but from the possession of very different 
qualities. One has been described before : it was no 
less than Cu Allee, standing guard at the entrance ; 

and the other was the most beautiful whitethorn 

» 

ever seen by human eyes, growing on the extremity 
of a green tongue of land at the opposite side of the 
glen. It shot up in a single stem to about seven 
feet from the ground, and then branched into three 
graceful arms, which extended themselves from side 
to side, in ramifications so singularly light and beau- 
tiful that the wild inhabitants of the mountains 
should not be deemed over-credulous for believing 
that the fairies trained its sprays, — upon which some 
white blossoms still lingered, — to assume those lovely 
forms ; and that they made the little green around it 
one of their most favored retreats. 

But, if Ellen Roche was surprised for an instant 
at the beauty of the whitethorn, it was with dismay 
and terror that she gazed on the uncouth form of 
Theige the Wolf, whom she mistook — no great mis- 
take indeed — for one of those wild spirits, who, in 
the shape of little red men, are believed by the Irish 
to haunt lonely places among the mountains, and 
whose appearance is a sure sign of the speedy 
doom of the unfortunate person who beholds them. 
She looked upon him for an instant; and, on no- 
ticing the evil expression of his eyes, covered her 


278 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


face with her hands, and sank, in the extremity of her 
terror, on a stone seat which lay beside her. Cu 
Allee noticed her dismay ; and, although it did not 
at all advance her in his good graces, he did not 
hate her as he did every one else, for he began to 
imagine some resemblance between her and his 
young sister, whom he had laid not long ago in the 
old churchyard of Doneraile. In fact, in thinking 
of his sister, the only person for whom he ever felt 
any thing like affection, he began to cast about in his 
mind why he stood guard there upon a poor girl in 
whom he recognized a similarity of appearance, and 
to picture to himself how he would feel, after doing 
one good action, by effecting her liberation. It was 
with him as with all who have turned on the evil 
path through life. The human heart, in its inno- 
cence, is like a lovely bower, where the virtues with 
their fair train of good and beautiful thoughts 
make their dwelling: but, when the devil once gets 
possession of the keys, out go the virtues and their 
bright attendants, and, though they return frequently 
and knock for admittance, the stern answer of the evil 
demon inside scares them off, like a flock of white 
doves at the yell of the mountain eagle. By-and-by 
the demon hides the keys, the bower withers and 
becomes rotten, and the virtues, led by our good 
angel, go searching, searching, but, alas ! rarely find 
the means of entrance to make it bloom again. The 
spirit of evil, in order to expel the good intention 
on this occasion from the breast of Cu Allee, thought 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


279 


fit to send a delegate in the person of the Man 
of Wonders, who, advancing up the glen, whispered 
something into the ear of the dwarf, at which 
he quitted his post, and proceeded with wonderful 
agility up the mountain at the back of the hut. Na 
Meerval entered, but paused for a time inside the 
door when he found himself unnoticed by Ellen 
Roche, who, with her face buried in her mantle, sat 
still in the same position as when she retired on see- 
ing Theige the Wolf. At length he spoke : — 

“ Yerrah ! my dark flower o’ the mountains, is’nt 
it unnathral to see you sittin’ that way, as bronach 
an’ sorrowful as if all belongin’ to you were laid out, 
an’ the wake-candles burnin’ over them ? ” 

Ellen sat up, for she knew the voice. • “ An’ is it 
you,” she said, “ you black-hearted villain, that 
spakes to me in such a way, after taking me away 
from my poor mother, whose heart, I know, is broke 
at the news already ? Let me go, I say.” And she 
gathered her mantle around her, and prepared to 
dart from the door. “ Let me go, or ’twon’t be long 
till some one you know will have his heavy revenge 
on you for this day’s work.” 

“Fair an’ aisy, Misthress Ellen,” said Na Meerval, 
putting her back gently to her seat. “ Listen to 
a few words I have to say, an’ ’twill make you a little 
kindher.” 

“ I can’t listen to any thing but about my laving 
this. You know you often got food an’ shelter an’ 
kindness in my mother’s house, an’ this is not the 


280 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


way to pay back those who ever an’ always helped 
you in your need.” 

“ That very shelther an’ kindness was my desthruc- 
tion ; for, from the first night I slept undher your 
roof, I fell in love, — you know with whom, — an ’tis 
conshumin’ my heart to cinders ever since. Listen 
to me for a minnit. There is one you think that’s 
dhramin’ o’ you mornin’, noon, an’ night. I know 
him, of coorse. But I tell you that Moran O’Brien 
has stopt thinkin’ o’ you since yestherday ; so, if he 
promised to do so always, he’s false to his word. 
Take the love, then, of a truer man, who’ll stick to 
you through life an’ death.” 

“ It is false,” answered Ellen vehemently. “ Mo- 
ran is still true to me, an’ will be as true to his re- 
venge upon you, if you don’t let me away.” 

“ You don’t know me, Ellen Roche. Thrue or 
false, you’ll never have him for a husband, nor 
have no one else either, barrin’ myself. I tell you 
he’ll never think on you more; an’ look at this,” 
said he, at the same time drawing a small silver 
cross from his bosom, “ if he was true in his heart 
and soul, would he let a purty-faced crathure, nearly 
as nate as myself, take this from round his neck? 
Upon this blessed cross, taken from the neck of a 
false man, who never more can see you, I swear to 
love you through pace an’ war, an’ through life an’ 
death, for ever an’ ever.” 

Ellen looked at the cross. It was Moran’s. She 
had herself placed it round his neck ; and he, poor 


TEE WHITETHORN TREE. 


281 


fellow ! had vowed at the same time that he would 
never part with it but in death. Suddenly the 
thought flashed upon her mind that he was dead, — 
murdered by Na Meerval and his accomplices. She 
looked instinctively at the sword by Na Meerval’s 
side. It was Moran’s. The horrible reality burst 
at once upon her mind ; and, with a piercing and ag- 
onizing shriek, she sank senseless on the floor of the 
hut. 

On awakening from her swoon, she found herself 
lying upon some soft heath in another apartment. 
A wooden vessel filled with water lay beside her 
upon a flat stone, with some bread. This she was 
enabled to observe by a few streams of red light 
which darted inwards through the chinks of an old 
wooden door which separated the recess in which 
she lay from the outer one. She cautiously arose, 
and, looking through one of the chinks, saw Na 
Meerval and his two comrades sitting round a heap 
of blazing wood in the apartment she had occupied 
on the preceding evening; for it was now far 
advanced in the night. She turned round in silent 
misery and fear, and, sinking her face once more in 
the folds of her mantle, sat in her despair until 
another morning was shining gloriously over the 
gray summits and deep valleys that surrounded her. 


282 


THE WHITETHORN TREE . 


CHAPTER III. 

I buckled on my armor, 

And my sword so keen and bright ; 

I took my gallant charger. 

And I rode him to the fight. 

We met the foeman early, 

Beside yon castle hoar, 

And slew them all by tower and wall, 

And by the dark lake-shore. 

Ballad. 

About sunrise that morning John of the Bridle 
took his way up the gorge through which poor Ellen 
had been borne. He had returned from Kilmallock on 
the previous evening, after delivering the despatch, 
and joined the dancers on the green of Fannystown. 
On inquiring for Ellen Roche, he was told the inci- 
dent that had occurred, and of Ellen’s accompany- 
ing Na Meerval to her home. Suspecting some unfair 
dealing on the part of Na Meerval, he proceeded di- 
rectly to the house of Maureen Roche ; but she 
could give no account of her daughter, except that 
she had gone early in the day to the dance. The 
alarm was given, and every piace searched, even 
the cave where John of the Bridle met the three 
Timothys; but no trace of the young girl could 
be found. John of the Bridle was on horseback 
most of that night, and, after sending some of his 
friends in other directions, took his way at sun- 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


283 


rise up the gorge that led between the hills. On 
reaching the highest point of a craggy ridge, he di- 
rected his course over a wide and elevated moor- 
land, strewn irregularly with huge masses of rock. 
Riding for some time in a southerly direction, 
he at length reached where the barren moorland 
merged into the stunted copsewood of the upland 
forest; and here he was met by a lathy and light- 
footed gorsoon whom he accosted. 

“ Rody,” said he, “ where is Remy of the Glen and 
the horsemen ? ” 

“ They’re below., in the ould Castle o’ Kilcolman, 
captin ; but come on down to ’em, for they’re in 
riglar currywhibles about somethin’, an’ wantin’ you 
badly.” 

When they had proceeded for some time through 
the forest, Rody stopped. “There, captin, is the 
ould castle bey ant there ; an’ here is the glin, fwhare 
all the horses are left for me to mind. So come 
down now, captin, an’ let me put your horse wid 
the rest.” 

John of the Bridle dismounted, and, guided by 
Rody, led his horse to a deep hollow in the forest, 
with bushy precipices all round it ; and here, feeding 
upon heaps of dried grass, stood between forty and 
fifty horses, accoutred, and ready for their owners. 
Leaving his horse among them to the care of Rody, 
John proceeded quickly along the forest pathway, 
until, at length, he stood before the ruined outworks 
of Kilcolman. Here he was met by a short, dark 


284 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


man, who stood as sentinel by the broken gate, and 
who told him to go in at once, for those inside were 
impatiently expecting him. On entering the dilapi- 
dated doorway, before him opened an arch-roofed 
and gloomy apartment, the principal hall of the 
castle, lit by a great fire of blazing wood ; which, 
as the chimney and windows w r ere all stopped up, 
filled the whole space inside with a thick cloud of 
smoke. Around the fire, in various attitudes, talk- 
ing, laughing, and eating, were congregated about 
twenty men, — some of the owners of the horses. The 
fire blazed and crackled, its red flame lighting up 
the wild visages of the horsemen, and glinting with 
picturesque effect on the half-polished arms that 
strewed the floor, or lay against the craggy walls. 
One young man, turning round, saw John of the 
Bridle, or the Captain, as they called him ; for it was 
he that always led them on their wild forays. 

“ Arrah, blur-an-ages ! here is the captin himself, 
at the very time we wanted him,” exclaimed the 
young man. “ I bleeve ’twas the Good People 
themselves that sent him.” 

“ ’Twas not, then, Shamus, but the very worst of 
people that sent me here. But why are ye sitting 
thus? and what account have ye of the troops that 
came out from Doneraile ? ” 

“ First an’ foremost, captin,” said Remy of the 
Glen, — a tall young fellow, the boldest and merriest 
looking of them all, and who, from the respect paid 
to his opinions by his comrades, appeared to have 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


285 


the command in the absence of John of the Bridle, 
— “First an’ foremost, we’re waitin’ to know would 
you come ; an’ second, we have a plan made out 
among ourselves that’ll maybe settle with them 
throopers — for they’re now cornin’ over the hills 
back to Doneraile — better than if we met them on 
the hills ; an’ — aur vonom ! — ’twill give us what we 
hadn’t this many a day, — a little sport. Twenty o’ 
the boys are now lyin’ in ambush outside in the 
wood, an’ five or six more are over on the height ; 
an’ the very minnit that the throopers get a look at 
them, they’re to run back here, an’ never stir out o’ 
this till the Black Captain begins to smoke them 
out. Dhar Dhia ! when we ketch himself an’ his 
throopers among these ould thraps o’ walls, but I’ll 
soon have a betther helmet than this rusty ould gris- 
sid on my head at present ! ” 

John of the Bridle was strategist enough to see 
that this was an excellent plan for settling accounts 
with the troopers. The only improvement he would 
suggest was that he should go himself, and head the 
ambuscade. He found the men outside crouched 
among the thick underwood of the forest, and wait- 
ing with impatience for the coming of their enemies. 
In tlie meantime those who served for a decoy sat 
upon the summit of a steep height, looking west- 
ward upon a troop of about thirty horsemen, return- 
ing from their murdering expedition. Suddenly one 
of the troopers looked up, and, beholding the wild- 
looking figures on the summit, pointed them out to 


286 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


his leader, the Black Captain ; who, sticking his long 
spurs into his horse’s flanks, dashed towards them, fol- 
lowed by his men. Away rushed the others, making 
a circuit in order to avoid the hollow where the 
horses were concealed, and were just in among their 
comrades when the troopers appeared in front of 
the castle upon the shore of the lake. 

“Ha, ha!” exclaimed one of them, as he entered, 
“ we have the bloody murtherers caught at last, an’ 
by the morthial big soord o’ Brian Boru, bud they 
have nate horses ! ” 

All inside now arose, and stood darkly around 
Remy of the Glen, their arms flashing in the red 
firelight, and the glow of revenge and hate shining 
in their wild countenances as they listened for the 
onset of their enemies. Remy now looked out, and 
beheld through the shattered outworks the troopers 
in a cluster by the lake, apparently deliberating on 
the best method of capturing the fugitives of the 
castle. Among them stood Theige the Wolf; like an 
evil spirit, grinning with glee at the prospect of the 
exercise’ he was apparently to have in his darling 
profession of a skibbioch, or hangman. The Black 
Captain now gave some orders, at which they all 
dismounted ; and one of them, a low-sized, lank-vis- 
aged, but stout man, who went by the euphonious 
name of Corporal Ebenezer Kick-th e-Goad, advanced 
to the gateway of the castle. 

“ Come forth,” he exclaimed, “ ye robbing Amalek- 
ites, or ye shall die the death of wolves, whom ye 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


287 


imitate, betaking yourselves to dens and caverns to 
avoid the path of the just and chosen ! ” 

The answer was a couple of bullets from the in- 
side, one of which stretched him by the gate, wound- 
ing him severely ; the other breaking the leg of the 
Black Captain’s horse, which stood on the shore al- 
most in a direct line behind him. 

“Now, by the soul of Abraham ! ” said the captain, 
“ they shall die. Follow me, children of Zion, and 
we’ll send their souls from yon unhallowed den to 
get an eternal taste of the punishments awaiting 
God’s accursed.” 

All now advanced towards the gateway, firing as 
they went, their shot killing a few inside. The be- 
sieged, on their part, were not idle ; for, as the troop- 
ers came clambering up the gateway, and through 
the ragged apertures of the outworks, they were sa- 
luted by a volley from the doorway which killed 
several of them, and sent the Black Captain rolling 
over and over in his death agony almost down to 
the shore of the lake. Finding their reception a 
little too hot, the rest retreated behind the shelter 
of the walls, in order to get time for a little deliber- 
ation before they renewed the attack. 

“That’s my shot,” said Remy of the Glen, when he 
saw the Black Captain rolling down ; “an’ his helmet 
an’ back-an-breast are mine. Poor Randal Breen, 
that broke the horse’s leg outside, has no claim ; for 
he’s shot himself.” 

The command of the besiegers now devolved 


288 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


upon a gigantic, iron-visaged man, the tallest of the 
troop, who, as he said himself, had cast away as an 
unhallowed thing his name of the flesh, but amply 
recompensed himself by taking the tremendous ap- 
pellation of Habakuk Burn-the-Gentiles. This 
changing of names was the universal custom of the 
Puritans of those days. Burn-the-Gentiles held the 
rank of sergeant, and was an experienced and cour- 
ageous soldier. The ambuscade had not yet come 
out from their hiding-place, and it is necessary to 
explain the reason. The Black Captain, on picket- 
ing the horses, had left them in care of Cu Allee 
and the Rev. Hezekiah Shout-the-Word-from-Zion ; 
who, although a preacher of the Word, was perhaps 
one of the keenest-eyed soldiers of the troop. At 
the moment of the first attack, the ambuscade, 
therefore, could not by any possibility come una- 
wares on their enemies. Various methods were 
now suggested by the troopers for dislodging the 
besieged, but Burn-the-Gentiles at length proposed 
one which was universally acceded to. 

“ Comrades in the chosen path,” he said, “ the cun- 
ning of the Amoritish slaves hath prevailed for the 
moment. But it shall avail them not. Even as 
Samson burned the vineyards, so shall we burn to 
the death those children of sin in yon accursed house. 
Depart. Gather ye fern and the dried grass of the 
forest, and place it even as a burning and suffocating 
and scorching barrier before the door of the 
heathen.” 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


289 


This order was obeyed with such alacrity that 
they soon had a great heap of half-withered boughs, 
grass, and fern, piled up beside the outer wall. Of 
this, each took a portion; and, stealing round the 
corners of the castle, they threw their bundles from 
them into the doorway, and in a short time had 
the whole space filled up with combustibles ready 
for the igniting spark. The heap was now set on 
fire, and all thronged around, — even the Reverend 
Hezekiah himself coming up from the horses to be a 
witness, — and stood in immense satisfaction at the 
idea of the sport they were to have in the charitable 
work of roasting half-a-dozen of their fellow-crea- 
tures ; and so intent were they on the interesting 
operation, that they never noticed the approach of a 
body of men equalling themselves in number, which, 
led by John of the Bridle, came slowly but surely to 
the attack behind them. On came these vengeful 
men, stealing through the bushwood, like panthers 
approaching their prey. Suddenly, with a savage 
yell, they sprang upon the rear of the terrified 
troopers ; and at the same moment the burning heath 
was scattered, as by the blast of a tempest, from the 
doorway, and out rushed Remy of the Glen and his 
remaining followers. Shot after shot rang around 
the ancient castle, shout and groan and sabre-clash 
woke the sullen echoes of the lake : but, after some 
moments, a few groans, scarcely louder than the 
murmur of the waves against the shore, fell upon 
the ear; for all the troopers, except Burn-the-Gen- 


290 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


tiles, Skout-the-Word-from-Zion, and a few others' 
with equally astounding appellations, met their death 
in that wild onset. The horse of John of the Bridle, 
hearing the shots, broke loose from the guardianship 
of Body, and darted down to the scene of conflict. 
John sprang upon his back, and with a few others, 
who had each appropriated a trooper’s horse, gal- 
loped away in pursuit of the fugitives, while the re- 
mainder of his men rushed after the chargers of the 
other dead troopers, which were careering in all direc- 
tions around Lough Ullair. On riding somewhat 
more than a mile in pursuit of Burn-the-Gentiles, who 
had turned in a different direction from his comrades, 
John of the Bridle reined in his horse ; for the re- 
doubtable sergeant fled with such reckless rapidity 
through the forest that it was quite useless to pursue 
him any farther. 

In the mean time, John’s men had secured the 
horses, and brought them in ; and were now crowded 
in front of the castle, dividing the spoils of their 
fallen enemies. Some of their own comrades had 
also fallen, their bodies lying side by side with those 
of the troopers. In the absence of their captain, 
Remy was necessarily the umpire ; and it was amus- 
ing to see with what tact and rapidity he managed 
the affair. Putting aside the horses to be disposed 
of according to the judgment of John of the Bridle, 
he first cast away his own old rusty helmet, and ar- 
rayed himself in the bright morion and corselet of 
the Black Captain ; then to one of his men he gave 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


291 


a back-and-breast, to another a sword and belt, and 
to some one else a helmet, and so on until the whole 
spoil was disposed of in £ satisfactory manner. 

Whilst engaged in admiring themselves in their 
new habiliments, they heard a shriek behind them; 
and, on turning round, beheld Alice O’Brien running 
towards them, pursued by a tall, dark woman who 
seemed blind with fury, for she still came on quite 
unheeding the threatening gestures of Remy and 
his comrades. Remy ran towards Alice, who fell 
fainting into his arms ; and a few others laid hold on 
her pursuer, who struggled and kicked and bit in 
their grasp with all the energy of a demon. Alice 
and the woman were still in the apartment described 
in the beginning of the first chapter, when the castle 
was suddenly occupied by Remy of the Glen and 
his companions. Not knowing who were beneath 
them, they had remained hidden during the morn- 
ing. Then came the noise of the fighting, the silence, 
and the distribution of the spoils : and Alice, hearing 
her cousin Remy’s voice, could bear the suspense 
no longer ; so, darting suddenly out through a ruined 
window, she clambered down the old broken wall, 
pursued by the woman, and was thus happily restored 
to her friends. The old woman now seemed calmed 
a little in her fury ; but, in all the varieties of abuse 
that the human tongue is capable of, she commenced 
to demonstrate to her captors that she was not at all 
afraid of them or any thing they could do. 

“Take the ould bird o’ Satin into the castle, an’ 


292 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


roast her, like a throut, upon the fire,” said one of 
the horsemen. 

“ Tie her to one o’ the Worse’s tails, the ould ban- 
shee, and let him whip, like a thimble-man, through 
the forest wid her,” exclaimed another. 

“No,” said Remy, “ let her go her own ways. W e 
have got plenty of her already.” And, with that, she 
was liberated ; and, leaving Alice and the horseman, 
with many a curse upon her tongue, she walked off 
round the lake, and took her way in the direction 
of Doneraile. 


CHAPTER IV. 

But oh ! one morn I clomb a hill, 

To sigh alone, to weep my fill, 

And there Heaven’s mercy sent to me 
My treasure rare, Ben — Erinni ! 

Irish Ballad. 

Reining up from the pursuit of Burn-the-Gen- 
tiles, John of the Bridle dismounted in a deep hol- 
low of the forest, in order to fasten a strap of his 
armor which had become loosened in the fray. 
On sheathing his sword, and while in the act of 
buckling the strap, he was seized around the body 
and arms as if in the grasp of a giant, and dashed 
roughly on his back to the ground. And it was truly 
a giant; for, on looking up, the young horseman be- 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


293 


held Theige of the Red Cloak standing over him, 
with an expression of triumphant hate in his massive 
features, and his skean in his hand, ready to prevent 
his victim from making any movement of escape. 
John instinctively moved his hand to where his 
sword ought to have been ; but the belt had been un- 
buckled when he was grasped first, and sword and 
dagger thrown to a distance from where he lay. Just 
at this moment, the attention of both was attracted 
to another object. It was Cu Allee, who had made 
his escape from the battle, and who now, darting 
from the thicket, was instantly clinging, like a cata- 
mount, to the saddle of John’s charger. The horse, 
not at all relishing this companionship, commenced 
rearing and dashing wildly up and down the hollow, 
till at length, by means of an agile spring to one 
side and a demivolt, he landed his rider in the bot- 
tom of a rough, gravelly drain. Up started Cu Allee 
with a shrill yell of vengeance, and all bleeding 
from the fall ; and, with his long dagger gleaming in 
his hand, rushed after the horse, which, clearing the 
thicket at the verge of the hollow, gained the more 
open part of the forest, and was soon safe from the 
resentment of his pursuer. Foiling Dearg turned 
again to his prostrate captive. 

“ Ha, ha ! ” he almost yelled, with a savage laugh 
of triumph, “hur is caught at last. Dhar Vurrhia! 
but it was like a rifiinly little dog follyin’ on the 
thrack of a wild wolf. An’ a dog’s death Shane na 
Shrad must die for that sore blow in the cave, an’ 


294 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


for crossing Thiege Foiling Dearg in his love.” And, 
so saying, he made John of the Bridle arise and 
march off in the direction of the Fairy Whitethorn ; 
Foiling Dearg keeping close behind, with a short 
gun ready pointed in his hand ; and Cu Allee closer 
still, his dagger ready to be plunged into the back 
of their captive, should he make any hostile move- 
ment. 

During the early part of that day, a burst of gay 
sunshine had flooded hill and valley; but, as the 
morning advanced, the sky was overstrewn by layers, 
of dull, copper-colored clouds, which came moving 
up from the eastern horizon with the slowness and 
regularity of a well-disciplined army proceeding to 
battle. Not a breeze stirred the leaves on the 
thickets ; and a dead and oppressive silence reigned 
around, which was at length broken by a low, rum- 
bling sound behind the distant mountains. A sud- 
den flash now illuminated the far-off horizon. It 
was succeeded by others, which, as they came, trav- 
ersed a wider arch of the heavens, and by thunder, 
each successive peal waxing louder and more hollow, 
till the very earth seemed bursting behind the hills. 
At length, and just as Timothy of the Red Cloak 
and his ill-favored companion, with their captive, 
were descending the side of a bare mountain, a 
bright ball of electric fire burst from the bosom of 
a black mass of cloud on the summit, and, darting in a 
zigzag course along the sky, burst, overspreading the 
whole wide arch with a flood of blinding and intense 


THE WHITETHOEN THEE. 


295 


brilliancy. Then came a dead silence, only broken 
by the patter of a few heavy rain-drops, which was 
succeeded by an explosion so loud and hollow that 
the very rocks seemed tottering from theif firm 
foundations. A black column of falling rain, like a 
waterspout, now advanced up the eastern heights, 
and spread and spread till the dark moorland and 
steep valley were one universal hiss and clatter of 
falling drops. 

Unstayed for a moment by the gloom and loud 
deluging of the storm, John of the Bridle and his 
Raptors proceeded over the bogs till they reached 
the edge of the deep glen through which the Ounanar, 
now swelled into a great torrent, rushed downward 
on the rocks, whirling along its jagged banks with a 
roar that almost drowned the frequent reverberations 
of the thunder overhead. Before them the stream 
was too deep and violent to attempt a passage 
across; so they proceeded upwards some distance 
to the junction of its two branches, where its bed 
was broader, and consequently more shallow. Here 
they changed their order of march, and began to 
wade the torrent, Foiling Dearg in front of the 
captive, and Cu Allee close behind, with his long 
dagger still glittering in his hand. Close above 
them the two streams rushed into one, forming a 
black and boiling pool, whose waters, as if eager 
for more noisy strife, issuing out, foamed and hissed 
and roared hoarsely around the many fragments of 
rock that obstructed their way to the narrow and 


296 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


tom channel some distance below. The three were 
now past the- middle of the torrent. A bright blaze 
of lightning for an instant illuminated the gloomy 
valley, when, with almost the suddenness of the 
electric flash, John of the Bridle turned round, 
snatched his sword-belt from the shoulders of Cu 
Allee, and dashed headlong downward into the 
whirling current. That wild current, reinforced by 
some roaring tributary, now rose with fearful sud- 
denness higher and higher, till it became too power- 
ful for mortal strength to contend against ; so the 
disappointed pair, after a few unsuccessful plunges,* 
were fain to scramble to the bank before them ; and 
leave John of the Bridle to the flood, which they 
supposed would dash him to pieces against the rocks 
beneath them in the glen. But the sudden swell 
saved him ; for, just as he was about to be shot down- 
ward through the narrow channel, he was raised high 
enough to catch at the naked roots of a giant ash- 
tree which grew upon the edge of the bank. With 
a mighty effort he heaved himself upward, and 
clutched one of these; scrambled higher still, and 
stood all blinded by the yellow foam upon the bank 
where they first looked for a ford across the torrent. 
At length he turned round, and shook his sword at 
the two as they stood beneath the cliffs at the oppo- 
site side. For answer to his defiance, a bullet from 
the musketoon of Foiling Dearg whistled across 
the glen, and struck with a shrill clang upon his 
breastplate, but, unable to penetrate the good steel, 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


297 


glanced aside, striking off the head of a sapling that 
grew hard by. Little relishing another visitor like 
this, John of the Bridle struck upwards through 
the wood ; and, on gaining the open heath, took his 
way in the direction of the spot where he was made 
prisoner that morning. 

After crossing a high, plashy bog, he began to 
ascend a stone-strewn hill, on whose summit rose a 
cairn, — probably an ancient landmark, or some 
monumental heap, erected long ago over some chief 
who had fallen in battle among the hills. The rain 
now began to abate, and, as he stood beside the 
cairn, had ceased altogether. He sat himself upon 
a fragment of stone, and looked ground. Beneath 
him, towering over the green forest, lay Kilcolman 
Castle. Between him and the skirts of the forest 
spread a slanting and rushy moorland, across which 
a body of horsemen were now advancing, whom, 
notwithstanding the distance, he instantly knew to 
be his own comrades. As they drew nearer, he 
could distinguish that one horse was without a rider, 
and that a female, seated behind a horseman, came 
on in the front of the cavalcade. Without waiting 
to see more, he now set off across the moor, as 
quickly as he could, towards a deep glen, which he 
knew was to be crossed by his companions. He and 
they coming to opposite sides of the glen at the 
same time, they soon observed him, and gave a wild 
and glad shout of recognition ; on which, the led 
horse, breaking away from the rider that held him, 


298 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


dashed down across the glen, and, with many a glad- 
some neigh, came bounding towards the spot where 
John of the Bridle stood. It was his own steed. 
After escaping from Cu Allee, he was caught by 
Body, in the forest, and brought in with the other 
horses. But a far more welcome surprise now 
awaited John. The party had crossed the glen, and 
were close upon him, when the female sprang lightly 
from behind Remy of the Glen, and the next mo- 
ment John of the Bridle was clasping fondly to his 
breast his long-lost and long-sought love, Alice 
O’Brien. As the wild horsemen circled round, and 
surveyed the meeting of the lovers, their rugged 
countenances lit up with pleasure ; and each began 
to tell, with many rough oaths and contradictions, 
how and where they had rescued Alice. 

“ Arrah, by the holy staff o’ the saint ! ” exclaimed 
Remy of the Glen, “ but if we’re not real fortunate 
men ! There I was this morn in’, with a bare breast, 
an’ an ould rusty pot of a helmet ; an’ here I am 
now with the black ould Parliaminther’s back-an’- 
breast, an’ a helmet as bright as the flamin’ diamond 
o’ Lough Lein. But what is it all to the bringin’ 
back o’ my sweet cousin Alice into the arms of our 
captin, her own true an’ dear lover, as she says her- 
self? I’ll bet my new helmet against Jack Burke’s 
ould spurs that I’ll grind the flags of any floor to 
smithereens, dancin’ at their weddin’ ! ” And, with 
that, he turned his spurs inward, and, in the excess 
of his delight, commenced driving his horse in an 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


299 


infinite number of capers and gambadoes around the 
splashing bog. 

“Little you knew, John,” said Alice, after they 
had mutually told the sorrow each felt during the 
time they were separated, “ little you knew, when 
speaking to Theige of the Red Cloak about restor- 
ing me, that it was he and his men bore me away 
into the hills. They stole upon me that evening at 
the milking bawn in Glenisheen, and took me first 
to his hut beside the fairy whitethorn. The black 
traitor ! did he think that I could give my heart to 
such as he, — a betrayer among his own companions, 
and to his native country ? When he found it all in 
vain, he took me away to Kilcolman, and left me 
with his sister, to sell me to the Black Captain, — he 
who, they tell me, lies beyond there by the wall of 
the castle. But I am rescued ; and now, my dear- 
est John, we meet, I hope, to part no more.” 

Leaving John and Alice to their happy thoughts, 
it is time to return to Foiling Dearg and his sweet- 
faced companion. They made no attempt to pur- 
sue their captive, for the simple reason that it was 
impossible for them to cross the flood ; but, turning 
upwards along the edge of the glen, they soon 
reached their hut, opposite the whitethorn. In its 
outer apartment Theige na Meerval was sitting be- 
fore them ; and, to judge by the expression of his 
countenance, he seemed in no very elysian humor. 
They stood silent for some time, the face of each 
indicating in its own peculiar manner the dark pas- 


300 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


sions aroused by disappointment. Na Meerval was 
the first to break it : — 

“ Cu Allee’s work is over, is it ? An’ why didn’t 
you bring Shane na Shrad here, as you promised, 
an’ let him take his last swing from the branch of 
the whitethorn outside ? Or maybe he escaped 
ye. Ha ! you said this mornin’ that your revinge 
was so strong that you could scent Shane na Shrad’s 
footsteps thro’ coom an’ forest, wherever he went.” 

“ My curse upon this roarin’ flood undher us ! ” 
exclaimed Foiling Dearg, “when we were crossin’, 
an’ so far that we couldn’t get back here agin, it, I 
may say, took him in its arms, an’ tore him from be- 
tween us, an’ threw him safe upon the bank we left. 
An’ he’s gone. My black an’ heavy an’ burnin’ 
curses upon him, night, noon, and mornin’ ! ” 

“ Yes : Cu Allee’s work ! ” said that worthy : “ why 
didn’t you do the work you got for yourself? There 
is a difference between bringin’ a strong man across 
a floody river, and coming round the colleen you 
have inside there. I thought ye’d be in love with 
each other in a minnit. Why didn’t you do that 
work with your sleight-o’-hand ? ” 

“ I’ll do it yet,” answered the little man, in all the 
energy of vindictive passion; “an’ if I can’t,” con- 
tinued he, laying his hand upon his dagger, “ there’s 
some sleight-o’-hand in this, an’ I’ll make it help 
me, an’ be my matchmaker.” 

“If I’d depended upon my skean, an’ not upon 
Cu Allee’s gad,” said Foiling Dearg, “ my mortal 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


301 


inimy wouldn’t be walkin’ free acrass the mountains 
this blessed hour. But maybe he isn’t gone far 
yet. The flood will soon begin to go down ; give 
us somethin’ to ate, an’ we’ll see what revinge can 
do to overtake him.” 

After partaking of some black, coarse bread, and 
making a few other preparations, they crossed the 
flood once more, and set out again in pursuit of 
John of the Bridle. 

When something more than an hour had passed, 
Na Meerval rolled away the large stone with which 
the door of the inner apartment was fastened, and 
stood once more in the presence of Ellen Roche. 

“ Come ! ” said he sternly, “ this is my third an’ 
last time for askin’ you. Say you’ll have me, love 
or no love, an’ your troubles are over.” 

Ellen had tried every kind of entreaty before. She 
now determined to brave it out, and meet her fate, 
if it came to the worst, as fearlessly as she could. 

“ I said that but once in my life, an’ you know to 
whom : can I say it now to one of the murderers 
of my betrothed Moran ? ” 

“ Your betrothed ! He’s betrothed to the worms 
by this, an’ what’s the use o’ thinkin’ about him any 
longer? Think o’ the long life that’s before you, 
an’ that you must spend it in my company, whether 
you like it or not. Think o’ the fair journeys an’ 
pleasant days an’ fine dresses you’ll have when my 
wife, an’ forget your betrothed for a truer man. I 
ask again. Say but that you’ll have me, an’ we’ll 


302 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


leave the company of Foiling Dearg an’ Cu Allee, 
an’ fly to a more peaceful land, where we can live 
together happy.” 

“ I think,” rejoined Ellen, “ of the life that was 
before me, and that you have blasted for ever. I 
think of him who lies in some bloody nook, with 
none to pray for him, and none to cover him from 
the ravens an’ the wild wolves of the hills. I think 
of all this ; and, if I live, each day your life will be 
near the brink, while I am near you. Keep me, 
then, if you dare; an’ see how I’ll remember the 
long life before me ! ” 

The Man of W onders saw that any further pic- 
turing of a pleasant life in his company to Ellen 
was useless. His demeanor now changed with a 
startling suddenness. As a connected set of ma- 
chinery with its complicated wheels, when one im- 
portant spring is put out of order, whirls round, and 
runs into irretrievable confusion and destruction, so, 
when one passion is set completely loose, a host of 
others is aroused to help its madness. And it was 
so with Na Meerval. His vindictive eyes, and 
every lineament of his face, seemed lighted up and 
blazing with the anger of disappointed love, if 
his could be called love ; and the revenge that 
knows no mercy was but too truly shown in the 
iron grasp with which he clutched his dagger, as he 
drew it to strike at the defenceless bosom of poor 
Ellen Roche. But, the moment he raised his dag- 
ger, he was struck from behind himself, on the head, 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


303 


and with a fores' that stretched him swooning on 
the floor. 

Accustomed as Na Meerval was to produce won- 
ders the most amazing, he was not at all prepared 
for the miraculous change of circumstances that 
presented itself to his view on his recovery. The 
first thing apparent to his awakening senses was him- 
self, Theige of the Red Cloak, and Theige the W olf, 
bound hand and foot, and sitting side by side, with 
osier gads, or withes, round their necks, under the 
three ominous branches of the fairy whitethorn. 
Immediately before them stood a short, dark-browed 
man, who seemed calculating the height of those 
three branches from the ground, and apparently 
having in his mind’s eye a lively picture of three 
men dangling in the intervening space. Around 
the tree, in various attitudes beside their horses, 
were the men of John of the Bridle, who himself, 
with his lieutenant, Remy of the Glen, stood a small 
distance outside the group, talking to Alice O’Brien 
and Ellen Roche. There was a horrible light in the 
eyes of both his comrades, which told Na Meerval 
too plainly what was to be their fate and his own. 

“ Where,” exclaimed he, not yet able to collect 
his thoughts, — “ where is my skean gone to, that I 
had this minnit so firm in my hand? Ha! did I 
stab myself, that this blood is flowin’ down my 
back?” 

“ Go an’ ask Remy o’ the Glen,” answered Foiling 
Dearg ; “ that’s the man that put the blood flowin’ 


304 


THE WHITETHORN TREE . 


down your back, when you should be protectin’ 
yourself, instead o’ raisin’ your dagger to the breast 
of a wake girl.” 

“Ha!” said Ha Meerval, now fully awakened, 
“ we’re caught in our own thrap at last. My curse 
upon the two that had strong revinge in their hearts, 
an’ their legs upon the free hills, an’ couldn’t escape 
from their worst inimies ! ” 

“Were they free hills,” exclaimed Cu Allee, with 
a wild volubility in his native tongue, “ when they 
waited for us in the thickets, as the wild cat waits 
for its prey ; and when they sprang upon us, and 
bound us hand and foot, before we could find our 
dagger-hilts to defend ourselves? And are they 
free hills here, when we have the keen, torturing, 
and destroying gads about our necks, that will send 
us with strange, piercing pain, and mortal fear and 
anguish, into the other world ? ” 

“ Stop,” answered Foiling Dearg, with a sullen 
and ferocious look, “stop your pains and tormints: 
what is the torthure o’ death to the tormints I feel 
at bein’ bound this way, an’ seein’ him beyant there, 
talkin’ to Alice O’Brien? Shane na Shrad,” he 
continued, raising his voice, “ I have but small time 
to live ; but, if I had a thousant years, every day of 
id would be spent plannin’ revinge, till I had sarved 
you as I sarved your lovin’ frind, Moran O’Brien. 
My etarnal curse upon the fate — an’ may the tor- 
rent dhry for ever in its bed — that tore you from 


THE WHITETHORN TREE. 


305 


J ohn of the Bridle made no reply ; but, after say- 
ing a few words to the dark-faced man who was 
calculating the height of the branches, proceeded 
with Remy of the Glen and the two young maid- 
ens up the valley, and left the three Timothys to 
their doom. 

A few days after the death of the three Timothys, 
there was another merry dance on the green of 
Fannystown. But it was more of a novelty this 
time, for there was a bride and bridegroom to lead 
the measure; John of the Bridle — or Captain 
John, as he was at last entitled to be called — 
and Alice O’Brien having been joined heart and 
hand the same morning by the young priest who 
attended the cavalry force then occupying Castle 
na Doon. 

Ellen Roche’s sorrow was deep and true for her 
dead lover. But, as months wore on, time began 
to soften her grief ; and she eventually became the 
bride of Remy of the Glen, John’s lieutenant, whose 
timely blow rescued her from the dagger of the Man 
of Wonders. 

Years upon years had passed away, until the gray 
fortifications of Kilcolman were level with the grass, 
and even the forests themselves were now dead upon 
the hills ; but the ancient tree lived on in its soli- 
tude of Glenanar, regarded with a strange rever- 
ence by the peasantry, and still called by them “ the 
Whitethorn of the three Timothys.” 

20 



ROSALEEN; OR, THE WHITE LADY 
OF BARNA. 


A STRANGE case!” said the doctor, as he 
came upon a certain page of his manuscript. 
“ What is it ? ” I inquired. 

“‘Captain John Fitzgerald and Rosaleen his wife, 
aged eighty-four and eighty-two respectively,’ ” pur- 
sued the doctor, heedless of my question, and read- 
ing from the closely- written page. “‘June 30, 
1858,’” continued he aloud once more, after a few 
moments’ silent perusal, “ ‘ ten o’clock, p.m. ; respira- 
tion weak, pulse forty-five and forty respectively ; ’ ” 
and then followed a long and minute catalogue of 
appearances and symptoms, on coming to the end of 
w T hich, the doctor, who was in one of his fits of ab- 
straction, sat up straight before his desk, and gazed 
vacantly into my face as I sat opposite. “Eleven 
o’clock, p.m.,” he resumed at length, half remem- 
bering my question, “cheerfully and without pain 
they both died, — died on the same instant.” 

“ Who were they, Doctor ? ” inquired I again. 

306 


THE WHITE LADY OF BARNA. 


307 


w They must have been a strange pair, when they 
fasten on your memory so firmly.” 

“ They were my best friends,” answered the doc- 
tor, now fully awake, “ and had their troubles like 
other mortals, — or rather, I should say, unlike other 
people, as you will see by reading that.” And he 
handed me over his manuscript, in the perusal of 
which I was soon eagerly engaged, leaving him to 
pore with critical eye over some recent numbers of 
“ The Lancet.” 

The doctor’s manuscript was beautifully and 
closely written ; and, if printed, and denuded of the 
quaint technical phrases with which it was so fre- 
quently interspersed, would make a handsome nov- 
elette. An abridgment of the tale, however, will 
better suit our purposes at the present : — 

Towards the end of the eighteenth century, there 
dwelt at the foot of a certain high mountain, 
in the south of Ireland, a gentleman named 
Weston, whose wife had died a few years after their 
marriage, leaving behind her to deplore her loss a 
son and a daughter. The demesne adjoining that 
of Weston wood belonged to an old gentleman who 
had served for a long time as an officer in the French 
army, and whose name was Fitzgerald. Ilis only 
son John was about the same age as that of young 
Weston. The two old gentlemen lived on terms of 
very close intimacy with one another, and the 
youngsters were consequently very often compan- 
ions in their sports. Young Weston was, while yet 


308 


ROSALEEN; OR, 


a boy, of a dark and violent disposition, subject to 
frequent fits of morose moodiness or passion, during 
which he was often known to vent his anger with 
strange vindictiveness on his father’s domestics, afid 
in fact on any one who interfered with him even in 
the slightest degree. His sister, on the other hand, 
was a bright, handsome little creature, full of joyous 
spirits, and beloved by the whole neighborhood. In 
the frequent rambles of these three young people 
together, John Fitzgerald, who was a bold and 
light-hearted boy, was, during the gloomy fits of her 
brother, thrown into the exclusive company of little 
Rosaleen Weston, helping her over thicket and 
brook, gathering wild berries and nuts for her in 
the autumn, and bringing her many a blooming 
nosegay of flowers in the summer, from the leafy 
dells and fairy hollows and romantic crags that lay 
around their homes. 

It was the old story. As years rolled on, their 
childish fondness ripened into love, and they were 
as happy for a time as human hearts could be. The 
old gentlemen met frequently, and talked jovially 
over their wine of the prospects of their children, 
and even of the day when John Fitzgerald and the 
fair Rosaleen were to be united heart and hand in 
marriage. They were happy, that young pair ; but 
they little knew that in a certain dark heart there 
was a plot fast maturing to put a period to their joy, 
and blight their future lives. Their enemy, strange 
to say! was young Weston. Since his early boy- 


THE WHITE LADY OF BARN A. 


309 


hood, from some unknown cause, he had hated young 
Fitzgerald ; but, with the consummate tact peculiar 
to a vindictive and treacherous mind, he continued 
to conceal his hatred beneath the mask of a friendly 
countenance. This was the more dangerous, as 
young Fitzgerald was of an open and impetuous 
temper, simple and confiding, and never restrained 
himself in telling to the brother of his affianced 
bride every secret of his heart, — every thing that 
arose to his mind at the impulse of the moment. 

Young Weston secretly and skilfully continued to 
work at his dark plans as time wore on, and unfortu- 
nately the political disturbances of the time aided him 
surely in his treacherous intents. In an unguarded 
hour, John Fitzgerald disclosed to him his connec- 
tion with a band of United Irishmen that were at 
the time maturing their plans for raising the South 
on the breaking out of the war. This band of 
United Men was at the time under the command of 
several young gentlemen who held a high place in 
society, and among whom John Fitzgerald was 
held in high esteem, on account of his daring courage 
and the knowledge of military tactics he displayed 
at their secret meetings. The disclosure of his 
fatal secret to young Weston filled that worthy with 
an infamous delight, knowing as he did that his 
base plot was coming speedily to its consummation ; 
and yet he hesitated to inform his father, who was 
a magistrate, because he was well aware of the 
strong friendship that existed between the two old 


310 


ROSALEEN ; OR, 


gentlemen, and suspected that his disclosure would 
not have the desired effect. But he adopted another 
plan. One morning his father walked out to the 
kennel to see how some of his favorite fox-hounds 
were getting on ; and met Ter Kelly, the whipper- 
in, before him, most industriously attending to the 
morning meal of the noisy dogs. 

“Well, Ter,” asked the old gentleman, “how is 
Miss Biddy to-day ? ” (Miss Biddy, by the way, 
was the favorite of the pack, and had been sick for 
a few days previous.) 

“Begor! your honor,” answered the slippery Ter, 
“ she’s gittin’ on most beautifully. Look at Ijer how 
she aits ! May I never sin, if she’s not able this 
morthial minnit to swally a fox, body an’ sowl, an’ 
all bekaise o’ the dhrop o’ potheen I gave her this 
inornin’ to warm her heart, the crathur! ” 

“She looks better certainly,” rejoined his master, 
turning away satisfied; but this did not suit Ter 
Kelly. 

“ I hope your honor is better o’ the rheumatics 
this mornin’, sir,” he said, “ an’ that you heard the 
morthial an’ awful news that’s runnin’ about, like 
wildfire, through the counthry.” 

“ What news, you scoundrel ? ” answered his mas- 
ter, whose joints began to be afflicted at the moment 
with some twinges of the unpleasant malady Ter 
had just named. 

“The news about the ruction that’s to be, your 
honor,” answered Ter ; “ an’ about the way the 


THE WHITE LADY OF BARN A. 


311 


United Men are meeting every night, an’ preparin’ 
to tnassacray every livin’ sojer in the counthry. They 
say also, that the young masther over the way,” 
and he pointed his thumb knowingly in the direc- 
tion of Fitzgerald’s home, “ that he is to be gineral 
over them ; an’ that his name is mentioned in the 
prophecy of Saint Columkill, an’ that he’s to walk 
knee-deep in the blood o’ the ” — 

“ Is that all ? ” said the old foxhunter, turning 
away suddenly, and thus cutting short Ter’s san- 
guinary communication. 

That was all that morning. But day by day the 
news came in from every side, confirming Ter’s 
statement, till at last old Weston began to think seri- 
ously on the matter. It is enough to say, that, ere 
a week was over, — so artfully had young Weston 
worked out his plans, — the two old gentlemen were 
estranged, and all intercourse forbidden between 
Rosaleen and her faithful lover, John Fitzgerald. 
But prohibitions like this are rarely obeyed. The 
lovers still met frequently, and vowed eternal con- 
stancy to one another at each jmrting. 

It was the summer of ’98 ; and the insurrection 
had at length broken out, bringing consternation 
and sorrow to many a household throughout the 
length and breadth of the land. John Fitzgerald at 
length received a secret summons that should be 
obeyed. It was an intimation from the insurgent 
commander, that his services were required at head- 
quarters; and, notwithstanding his love for Rosaleen 


312 


R0SALEE1 V; OR, 


and other circumstances, he began his preparations 
for setting out for Wexford, where the war was 
then raging furiously. The disclosure of his inten- 
tion fell heavily on the heart of poor Rosaleen 
Weston. After the first burst of her grief was 
over, they agreed to have one other interview be- 
fore his departure ; and, when the hour came, they 
met at the usual trysting-place, — a deep and woody 
dell that extended up the breast of the high moun- 
tain. 

They sat beside the tiny stream that tinkled 
downward through the quiet glen, and, with all they 
had to say, did not perceive the time passing, till 
the approach of sunset. The spot on which they 
were sitting afforded a splendid view over the 
broad and varied plain that extended far away from 
the foot of the mountains, and that was bounded 
on the south by a steep and picturesque range of 
hills, the green slopes and summits of which the 
setting sun was now gilding with his expiring 
glories. 

“It is a hard thing to part, dearest,” said John 
Fitzgerald, looking fondly into the tearful eyes of 
Rosaleen ; “ but it is harder still to stay inactive 
here, branding my name* with dishonor, breaking 
my plighted oath, and perhaps hiding my head in 
shame, while my countrymen are bravely fighting 
for their liberties.” 

“ It is hard, J ohn,” said Rosaleen, “ but does it 
not seem harder to leave me ? Alas ! why did you 


THE WHITE LADY OF BARN A. 


313 


take that fatal oath of the United Men ? Have you 
not liberty enough ? ” 

“ I have, perhaps, liberty enough, Rosaleen,” an- 
swered her lover; “but there are thousands of my 
countrymen ground down to the dust, and it is my 
duty to give my humble aid in assisting them to 
arise. But I shall not be long away, dearest,” con- 
tinued he. “ The war cannot last long ; and then, 
when we are victorious, as I trust we surely shall 
be; when I have gained by my deeds preferment 
in the new army of my country, — then, darling, I 
will return and claim you as my brightest reward.” 

“Alas!” answered Rosaleen, as she burst into 
tears, “ it will be a perilous time for you, John ; and, 
for my part, I cannot look on the matter in any 
other light. You are going wilfully into danger, 
and the day you mention may never come.” 

“But it will come, Rosaleen,” exclaimed her 
lover vehemently. “ Our plans are laid well, and 
trust me, that, with God’s blessing, I shall come back 
soon, and claim you for my wife. And now we 
must part. Good-by, and may Heaven bless and 
guard you ! ” And the brave young enthusiast 
clasped her in his arms, kissed her wet cheeks 
fondly, and in a moment was gone. That night the 
United Men met on the summit of the mountain. 
John Fitzgerald was elected their commander; and, 
putting himself at their head, he marched gallantly 
down into the plain, and by many a wild and un- 
frequented path shaped his course for Wexford. 


314 


ROSALEEN; OR, 


A deep melancholy fell upon the spirits of Rosa- 
leen Weston, after the departure of her lover. She 
that was so joyous and happy while she knew 
the chosen of her heart was near, now that he was 
gone — gone to encounter hardship and privation, 
and perhaps to meet death upon the field of battle 
— was almost mad with grief, and knew not a mo- 
ment’s interval of enjoyment. There are some, who, 
when parting from those they love, feel a sudden 
and violent burst of sorrow, which, like the moun- 
tain torrent when the storm is over, soon subsides ; 
but the grief of Rosaleen was not of this kind: 
though deep and strong, it was as enduring as her. 
very life itself. Her friends, her father, and all 
tried to comfort her, but in vain. 

The country was now in a state of dreadful com- 
motion. The insurgents had at length met the 
royal army face to face upon a fair field, and had 
conquered. Day after day news came of the prog- 
ress of the war. Three successive engagements 
had again been fought, and in each of them the 
royal party had been worsted. It was indeed sur- 
prising to witness the celerity with which the intel- 
ligence of a battle spread throughout the country 
at this time. Fugitives endeavoring to return 
secretly to their homes from some skirmish in which 
they had been badly wounded, carmen driving 
downward after being pressed into the service of 
royalists or insurgents to convey baggage to Wex- 
ford, disbanded or deserting yoeman hurrying with 


THE WHITE LADY OF DARN A. 


315 


terror in their countenances to some place of pro- 
tection, spread — as they brought information of the 
successor discomfiture of the insurgent armies — joy 
or sorrow throughout- the southern province. But 
still no news came of John Fitzgerald. 

Matters at last came to a crisis. The battle of 
Vinegar Hill was fought and lost by the insurgents ; 
chiefly indeed through their own misconduct, and 
the irresolution and disagreement of their generals. 
Home was now their signal word; and, as they 
passed in detached parties through the southern 
counties, they spread sorrow and consternation on 
their way. A few days after the battle, as Rosaleen 
was sitting on a shady seat out on the lawn, think- 
ing with sorrowful heart upon the probable fate of 
her lover, she saw her brother riding quickly 
towards her up a narrow walk that led to the pub- 
lic road. He dismounted, and, as he took a seat 
near her, appeared much excited, and in a far lighter 
and more jovial mood than was usual to his dark tem- 
perament. From this, however, she could augur 
nothing favorable, and, with a sad presentiment at 
her heart, begged of him, if he had, as he seemed, 
any intelligence to communicate, to do so at once. 

“I was riding a few hours,” he said, with an ex- 
pression of mock sorrow in his dark face, “ at the 
foot of the hill, and came upon a party of the 
broken-down rebels returning from the thrashing 
they got at Vinegar Hill. I inquired about my old 
comrade, John Fitzgerald” — 


316 


ROSALEEN; OR, 


“ My God, Harry ! ” exclaimed Rosaleen, “ tell 
me, I beg of you, what about him, at once, — at 
once, I tell you ; for, no matter what’s past, he is 
still my betrothed husband.” 

“ I am going to do so,” answered her brother 
coolly. “ They told me that on the evening of the 
battle, while leading — like a general, of course — 
the small detachment under his command into the 
final charge — they said that he was struck by a 
cannon-shot, and left for dead upon the field. That’s 
the fate of your general that — according to his cal- 
culations — was to be.” 

Poor Rosaleen could hear no more. With a wild 
shriek of despair and grief, she fell insensible from 
her seat. This was a result which her cruel broth- 
er very little expected ; and, feeling now a real 
apprehension, he alarmed the servants, and Rosa- 
leen was conveyed to her chamber. But there all 
their efforts to restore her to consciousness proved 
unavailing. A doctor was sent for immediately to 
the nearest town ; but, when he arrived and learned 
the circumstances, he shook his head, and told her 
father that he had very serious fears regarding her 
recovery. His fears were but too well founded ; 
for, at the dawn of the next morning, she awoke in 
the delirium of a brain fever. For many days the 
wild delirium continued. At length it subsided 
somewhat. For some hours she spoke to those 
around her with a strange and unnatural calmness ; 
but the wandering fits again returned, again sub- 


THE WHITE LADY OF BARNA. 


317 


sided and returned, and she finally relapsed into a 
state of mental derangement. Poor Rosaleen, the 
accomplished, the guileless, the beautiful ! the fair 
fabric of her mind was sapped to its foundation, and 
the bright hopes she had built up seemed shattered 
forevermore. 

After some time she began to gain a little strength, 
and was permitted by her father to take a short 
walk, occasionally, into the garden and round the 
lawn, but at first always attended by her nurse. On 
these occasions, with that affecting simplicity pecu- 
liar to persons in her state, she usually employed 
herself in searching round the shrubberies, and un- 
derneath the old beach-trees that studded the lawn, 
for something which she appeared desirous of keep- 
ing secret. On returning one evening from one of 
these rambles, she appeared more dejected than 
usual ; and, when her nurse inquired the cause of 
her sadness, she burst into a violent fit of weeping, 
saying that she was ever searching round the lawn 
for John Fitzgerald’s grave, but that she could never 
find it. Time wore on : the vigilance with which 
she was watched began to be relaxed, and she was 
frequently permitted to walk alone round the lawn, 
and farther into the demesne. She had not indeed 
abandoned the idea that her lover’s grave was 
somewhere near ; and between searching for it, and 
plucking garlands of wild flowers to deck it, should 
her search prove successful, she spent most of her 
time in the open air during the beautiful evenings 


318 


ROSALEEN; OR, 


of declining summer, but at the same time always 
returned punctually before nightfall. 

One evening Rosaleen Weston did not appear in 
her father’s parlor at her usual hour. The old gen- 
tleman, after waiting some time, sent out a couple 
of the servants to see what caused her delay. They 
came hastily back, saying that they had searched 
round all her haunts, but could not find her. A gen- 
eral search was now made, but it was unsuccessful. 
The tenantry around Were by this time made 
acquainted with what had happened ; and a sharp 
search was made round the villages near, round the 
base of the mountain, and into the wild dells where 
she loved so much to ramble when John Fitzgerald 
was by her side : but still no Rosaleen could be 
found. In the darkness, still the search was con- 
tinued ; but it was unavailing. Morning dawned 
upon the heart-broken father and the remorseful 
brother, and another and more vigorous search was 
made, but with the same success as on the pre- 
ceding day and night. 

Years before, ere dissension had arisen between 
their fathers, young Rosaleen and her lover fre- 
quently ascended to the summit of the mountain 
on the side of which lay their last trysting-place. 
There they were wont to sit for hours, and talk of 
the wild legends told by the peasantry in connec- 
tion with that stately mountain. Often, too, John 
Fitzgerald would tell her stories of the battered old 
castles that lay beneath, of the bravery of the 


THE WHITE LADY OF BARN A. 


319 


sturdy chiefs that held them in the olden time, and 
the manner in which they fought against the enemy 
of their native land on many a well-contested field. 
There was one feature of the scene, however, on 
which the lovers, particularly at sunset, looked with 
more delight than on all the others. It was the 
beautiful range of hills that formed the far southern 
boundary of the broad plain beneath. One of these 
hills towered high above its neighbors, in the shape 
of a smooth green cone, with scattered woods run- 
ning up its sides, and a solitary rock upon its sum- 
mit. On a certain evening they were sitting on 
their usual seat on the summit of the mountain 
near their home. A gorgeous scene lay before them. 
The silent plain, the broad river that ran along its 
northern verge glittering like a stream of gold in 
the descending sun, and the far circle of surrounding 
mountains, brought a holy and strange calmness into 
their young hearts. 

“ How red and clear! ” exclaimed John Fitzgerald, 
turning towards their favorite point of the prospect : 
“ how bright the sunset falls upon that lonely group 
of hills ! ” 

“ And look,” answered Rosaleen, “ at the little 
rock on the point of the highest hill. It is like one 
of those ancient altars you tell me of, where the 
ancient inhabitants worshipped the sun.” 

“Yes,” rejoined her lover; “and beneath, how 
bright it is! Ah! Rosaleen, when in after times 
death shall steal upon us, how I long that we could 


320 


ROSALEEN; OR , 


sleep side by side in one of those peaceful and 
lonely gorges! There the birds would sing day 
after day their sweet songs, the wild flowers would 
bloom undisturbed over our grave, and the moun- 
tain streams murmur around it joyously forever.” 

On the evening previous to Rosaleen’s disappear- 
ance, she had paid a stolen visit to the summit of 
the mountain from which they viewed that loved 
scene so often. Casting her eyes to the south, she 
beheld again that beautiful chain of hills in all their 
sunset glory. Suddenly it struck her mind that 
the wish of her lover might have been fulfilled, 
and that his grave lay in the sunlit gorge he had 
pointed out on the evening alluded to above. 

“ It must be so,” she exclaimed, as she now quick- 
ly descended the mountain. “ His grave must be 
there, and I will go and seek it.” 

She hurried homeward, and it was noticed by 
those who attended on her that she appeared on that 
night in a happier state of mind than usual. Next 
day, at her usual time of walking, wrapping herself 
in a large mantle which she occasionally wore, she 
stole out, and proceeded by an unfrequented path in 
the direction of the southern chain of hills. And 
thus it was that she had disappeared from her 
home. 

At the foot of the highest of these hills, there 
was at that time a small village called Barna. It 
was completely surrounded by woods, the remains 
of the ancient forest that once clothed the whole 


THE WHITE LADA OF BARN A. 


321 


of that wild and romantic district. At the upper 
end of this village, there was a green glade in the 
wood, sloping up the foot of the mountain ; and in 
a level hollow of this glade, beneath a huge syca- 
more-tree, the villagers were accustomed to sit on 
holiday evenings, listening to the strain of some 
wandering musician, or the tale of some ancient 
shanachie , or story-teller. One evening they were 
all not a little astounded at the sight of a young 
and beautiful lady, dressed in white, and sitting on 
the verge of the glade, smiling at them, and watch- 
ing their merriment. It was poor Rosaleen Wes- 
ton. How she had reached the place, and how she 
continued to subsist during her sore and toilsome 
journey, she was unable during the whole of her 
after life — and it was a long one — to remember. 
But there, however, she was, to the no small wonder- 
ment of the villagers. First, they thought her a 
spirit, and were inclined to scatter in consternation 
to their homes. By degrees, however, their curiosity 
got. the better of their fear. They waited, gazing 
silently upon her, until at length she rose, came 
down to the tree, and spoke to them. Then they 
soon found out what she was, and the sad mental 
malady into which she had fallen. In that quiet 
hamlet she lived for nearly a month, and was treated 
kindly and tenderly by the poor villagers, who soon 
grew to love her for her simple ways, her beauty, 
and her artless talk, and more than all, because, as 
they said, her mind was gone, and that it was their 


322 


no SALE EN ; on, 


duty to tend her and guard her well. She had 
found a green spot amid the wood, which she said 
was her lover’s grave ; and day by day she visited it, 
decked it with flowers, and sang sad songs over it. 

One day, about a month after her arrival, she was 
sitting on the green spot in the wood, weaving a 
garland of flowers. Suddenly she heard a step 
behind her, and, on turning round, beheld her lover. 

She started to her feet, flew to him, clung fondly 
around him for a moment, and then dropped down 
into a long but quiet swoon. When she awoke, 
John Fitzgerald was bending over her, and sprink- 
ling her brow with water. Strange to say, her men- 
tal malady was quite gone; and she now remem- 
bered every thing distinctly that had happened 
previous to that terrible moment her brother had 
given his fatal and treacherous news on the lawn. 

John Fitzgerald had been only slightly wounded 
at Vinegar Hill. He had, some time after the 
battle, returned to his native place, where he con- 
trived to evade the officers of the Government. 

Hearing of the disappearance of Rosaleen, he 
had made search for her during many a weary day, 
and was now rewarded well for his trouble. 

“How can we go home?” said Rosaleen. “Ah! 
John, it was a weary time for me ; but I hope we 
will be parted no more. And yet I fear my father 
and brother.” 

“ W e will not go home,” answered her lover. 
“The priest of this parish is my father’s cousin. 


THE WHITE LADY OF BARN A. 


323 


He will marry us ; and then we can easily reach 
France, where I trust to be able to advance myself 
in the profession I have chosen, — as a soldier.” 

They were married ; they contrived to reach 
France also, and there John Fitzgerald prospered in 
his profession. About eighteen years afterwards, a 
carriage drove by the village of Barna, where they 
still remembered the White Lady. It stopped at 
the little inn by the wayside. In it were a dark, 
military-looking gentleman and a lady, who desired 
that the heads of the different families in the village 
should come to them. To each they gave a present 
of money ; for the sake, they said, of the poor young 
lady that had received such kindly shelter there 
many years before. Away again rolled the car- 
riage over the great plain, and, stopping only to 
change horses at an occasional town, at length 
arrived at the foot of the mountain, and before the 
gate of old Fitzgerald, who was still living. It 
was Capt. John Fitzgerald and his lady, the still fair 
Rosaleen. 

At this part of his manuscript, the doctor goes so 
deeply and profoundly into the analysis of human 
feelings that it is impossible to follow him in his 
lucubrations. The reader will easily conceive the 
joy of old Fitzgerald and his son and daughter-in- 
law at their meeting after so many years’ separation. 
Rosaleen’s father was dead; and her brother married 
and flourishing — as if he had never done wrong — 
upon his ancestral estate. Probably he had repented 


3^4 THE WHITE LADY OF BARN A. 

of his bad deeds ; else, I am sure, the erudite and 
somewhat irascible doctor would have done him 
poetic justice in his manuscript. After some time 
old Fitzgerald also died, and Capt. John succeeded 
to the estate. 

On finishing my notes from this part of the manu- 
script, the doctor, guessing to what I had arrived, 
raised his head somewhat, and put back his white 
hair from his forehead. Still gazing on a page of 
“The Lancet,” however, he said, half to himself and 
half to me, — 

“June 30, 1858, eleven o’clock, p . m ., Capt. John 
Fitzgerald and Rosaleen his wife, cheerfully and 
without pain, and surrounded by their children, 
grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, both died 
— died on the same instant.” 



The Bridal Ring. 

A STORY OF CAHIR CASTLE. 


HE site on which Cahir Castle is built was 



-JL formerly a dun , or fort, — a structure which was 
formed of woodwork and earthen embankments. 
The present castle was founded, it would seem, by 
one of those bold Norman adventurers who came to 
our shores in the train of the Earl of Chepstow, or 
Strongbow, as he was more familiarly called. It 
stands upon an island rock which divides the waters 
of the Suir, and, during the several wars that raged 
in Ireland since the invasion, was always a place of 
great strength and importance. It belonged, since 
the beginning of the fourteenth century, to the pow- 
erful house of Ormond ; for we find it then in pos- 
session of James Butler, son of James the third 
earl, by Catherine, daughter of the Earl of Desmond. 
During the wars of Elizabeth and those of the suc- 
ceeding reigns, it changed hands frequently, and 
stood several gallant sieges, the relation of which 
would be far too long for the limits of this story. 


325 


326 


THE BRIDAL RING. 


The ancient Irish name of the town of Cahir was 
Cahir duna-iascaigh ; that is, the circular fortress 
of the fish-abounding fort. One of the incidents 
connected with the military history of Cahir Castle 
is told in the following story : — 

In a corner of a solitary churchyard some short 
distance from Cahir, there lies a portion of an ancient 
tomb, namely, the upper half of a limestone slab, 
which is now almost completely hidden from the eye 
of the curious visitor by the rank and luxuriant 
growth of docks, nettles, and other weeds that 
clothe the silent dwellings of the dead around. If 
you raise it up, and rub the moss carefully from its 
timeworn face, you will be rewarded with the sight 
of the following portion of an inscription : — 

“ Heere lieth ye bodye of John de Bo tiller, 
who was shot. 

Alsoe ye bodye of his Wife Mary de Botiller, 
who died when he died. 

Their youthe was Love, 

Their courtshippe was Love, 

Their marriage-daie was Love, ' 

Their wedded life was Love, 

Their deathe was Love, 

And ” 

What the remaining portion of the inscription was 
will most probably remain unknown forever; for 
the fracture occurs at the word “And,” while the 
other half of the slab is lost. Many an hour’s toil 
the search for that lost fragment of sculptured lime- 


THE BRIDAL RING. 


327 


stone cost us : but it was all of no avail ; and the 
history of the personages whom the above quaint 
words commemorate would perhaps have remained 
in obscurity till the end of time, were it not that we 
happened, some years ago, to meet Brian Tiernay, of 
Tempi etenny, as fine and jovial and stalwarth, and 
withal as venerable, a specimen of a senachie , or 
story-teller, as you would find within the four seas of 
old Ireland. Brian Tiernay’s relation is far too long 
to come within the limits of such a short tale as this 
must necessarily be. Stripping it, therefore, of 
some of its ornate flourishes, and a great number of 
incidental episodes, we shall proceed to relate the 
thread of the story according to his version. 

About a mile or so to the south-east of Cahir Castle, 
there stood, on a high crag over the Suir, a square 
tower, or peel-house as they would call it in Scotland ; 
which tower was for a long time the dwelling of 
Walter Bidensford, an ancient retainer of the great 
house of Ormond. The tower was one of a chain of 
similar buildings, which, with their high bawn walls 
and strong gates, stood at the distance of a few 
miles from one another towards the south and west, 
in a semicircle beyond the great border fortress of 
Cahir, and acted as advanced posts through which 
an enemy would have to pierce before he could 
attack the strongly-situated central castle. The 
tower to which we allude was called Tig-na-Sgiath, 
or the House of the Shield, from a rude representa- 
tion of that defensive appurtenance of a warrior, 


328 


THE BRIDAL RING. 


which was sculptured over the sturdy archway that 
led into the bawn. It was a strong place, and espe- 
cially so during the time it was occupied by the 
brave old castellan whom we have named above. 

Walter Ridensford, or Wattie Stem-the-Stream, 
as he was called along the borders, — by which we 
mean that strip of debatable land which lay between 
the territories of the two great and rival houses of 
Ormond and Desmond, — was one of the most eccen- 
tric men that ever struck morion on head to follow 
the banner of his master on fray or foray. At the 
time of our story, he had attained to that respecta- 
ble age which generally precludes a man from en- 
gaging in the rough and dangerous occupations 
of war. But time seemed to have had but little effect 
upon the iron frame and hardy spirit of Wattie- 
Stem-the-Stream; for he was still one of the most 
quarrelsome, and at the same time most formidable, 
of all those retainers of the house of Ormond who in- 
habited that dangerous and troublesome district lying 
along the south-western banks of the Suir. Many 
a single combat he had fought, and many a foray he 
had ridden, in every one of which, by some good 
chance or other, he had been successful ; and this, 
we need not say, caused him to be regarded as a 
personage of no small consequence by the various 
seneschals, castellans, and other people of note and 
authority for many a mile round. Wattie had mar- 
ried late in life ; and his wife, dying soon after, left 
behind her an only daughter, who was dear as the 


THE BRIDAL RING. 


329 


apple of his eye to the old warrior, and who, about 
the period at which our story commences, was nearly 
seventeen years of age. 

Mary Ridensford was a beautiful and gentle girl ; 
and, when we say that much of her, it is enough to 
indicate the fact that her hand was sought in mar- 
riage by many a young cavalier of the borders. 
But to all those, when they ventured to speak upon 
such a delicate subject to Wattie Stem-the-Stream, 
that grim old warrior made the rather ambiguous an- 
swer, that no one but the best man in Ormond would 
get his daughter for a wife. This oracular response, 
it seems, instead of decreasing, added considerably 
to the number of young Mary Ridensford’s suitors. 
There was Gibbon of the Wood, from the banks of 
Funcheon, who looked upon her with a loving eye, 
and who gave it out that he would cheerfully do 
battle with sword -and axe — if that was the mean- 
ing of old Wattie Stem-th e-Stream’s answer — 
•against any competitor for the lady’s hand ; there 
was Donat Burke of Ruscoe, who swore, that, as he 
had lost his heart, he did not care a straw about losing 
his head for her sake ; there was Raimond Grace, of 
Burnfort, who made oath to his confidential friend, 
that, along with putting his heart’s blood in jeopardy 
for the sake of gaining her affections, he would will- 
ingly throw his lands and castle into the bargain; 
and there was a host of others. But the rivalry at 
last seemed hottest between Gibbon of the Wood 
and the young castellan of Cnoc Graffon, whose 


330 


THE BRIDAL RING . 


name was John de Botiller, or Butler, and who, 
besi des being a distant cousin of the Earl of Ormond, 
was also accounted the boldest horseman of the bor- 
der, and the best and truest hand at sword-play, 
pistol-mark, or deft tricks of dagger in time of war, 
and also in every athletic amusement on festival 
days on village green and by fairy well. One day 
John de Botiller received intimation from one of his 
daltins, or horseboys, that Gibbon of the Wood had 
just paid a visit, on matrimonial subjects intent, 
to the House of the Shield. This information was 
not, of course, very welcome to the young and fiery 
castellan of Cnoc Graffom With a dark brow he 
began revolving the subject in his mind, and at last 
took his horse, and rode away for the purpose of 
paying a similar visit toWattie Stem-th e-Stream. 
He found that worthy sitting by his castle-gate, 
grimly contemplating a certain pass in the far-off 
range of mountains, where, once upon a time, he had 
the satisfaction of seeing a detachment of the Des- 
mond soldiers cut to pieces by the followers of his 
ancient lord and master, Thomas the Black, Earl of 
Ormond. Now, the young castellan of Cnoc Graf- 
fon knew well the kind of man he had to deal with, 
and proceeded at once to business, with an abruptness 
and candor wofully contrasting with the match- 
making chicanery and matrimonial circumlocutions 
of more modern times* 

“ Wat Ridensford,” said he, on receiving the curt 
but hearty welcome of the old man, “ you know me 


THE BRIDAL RING. 


331 


since I was a child. I have nothing but my castle 
and a few acres around it, — nothing else but my 
sword to help me on through the world : will you 
give me your daughter for a wife ? ” 

“ That I cannot tell,” answered the phlegmatic 
Wattie. “ I have often said that the best and bravest 
man in Ormond only should get her. What do you 
say to that ? ” 

“Nothing,” answered John de Botiller, “noth- 
ing, only that I cannot understand it. I tell you 
what I have heard, that Gibbon of the Wood was 
here to-day. To him, I suppose, you have given the 
same answer ; but know, W attie Stem-the-Stream, 
that as I have come — yes, come here for, I believe, 
the twelfth time, I am determined not to be put 
off with a riddle any longer.” It was now he 
showed his knowledge of W attie’s character. “You 
must tell me what you mean,” continued *he. “If 
you do not, here is a level space before us ; draw 
your sword, and you will soon see, that, if you 
were twice as good a man as you are, I’ll whip the 
answer in a trice out of that old iron carcass of 
yours. Draw. ” 

This was exactly what Wattie wanted, and what 
he was for a long time expecting from some one of 
the suitors for his daughter’s hand. He now quietly 
stood up, and drew the heavy sword he usually car- 
ried by his side. With a grim smile of mingled 
approval and affection, he looked upon the splendid 
figure of the young castellan of Cnoc Graffon, as the 


332 


THE BRIDAL RING. 


latter stood opposite him, also with his drawn sword 
in hand, ready to begin the strange combat. 

“The answer, the answer!” cried John de Botil- 
ler. 

“ Take that, instead,” answered Wattie, making a 
playful cut of his sword at the young castellan, 
which, however, the latter avoided by a nimble 
bound in a backward direction. A sharp combat, 
half play, half earnest, ensued ; the result of which 
was, that Wattie was at last beaten back against the 
wall by his young antagonist. 

“Yield, Wattie! yield, and give the answer! ” ex- 
claimed John de Botiller, as the old man planted 
his back against the wall, and stood warily on 
his defence. “ Yield, yield ! ” continued he, dancing 
nimbly round, and making various playful lunges 
and slashes at the old man, at which the latter at 
length bbrst into a hearty and sonorous fit of laugh- 
ter, and dropped the point of his sword with a mock 
grimace on his swarthy old countenance, in token 
of submission. 

“ The answer you shall have, by my father’s 
head !” exclaimed Wattie, as he now planted him- 
self upon the stone seat by the gateway, and invited 
the young horseman to take a seat beside him. 
“ Here it is,” continued he. “ I have sworn that 
none but the best man in Ormond shall get my 
daughter for a wife; and you may be sure that 
Wattie Ridensford is not the man to break his oath. 
I will appoint a day on which the suitors can come 


THE BRIDAL RING. 


333 


to Tig-na-Sgiath, and try their prowess at every 
kind of exercise. On that day, if you come, you 
will get your chance ; and, between us both,” con- 
tinued he, grasping the hand of the young castellan, 
and giving it a tremendous squeeze, “ I wish you suc- 
cess ; so, whatever happens by flood or field, be here 
on the day appointed.” 

“It is enough,” said John de Botiller, returning 
the friendly grasp of the old soldier. “I will be 
here ; and, with Mary looking on me from the cas- 
tle window, I hope to acquit myself so that I shall 
come off* the winner of her fair hand.” 

With that he bade farewell to old Wattie, and 
rode away to Cnoc Graffon. This occurred on the 
evening of May-day ; but, ere a fortnight was over, 
there was a storm raised in the land, which left but 
little time to the wooers of young Mary Ridensford 
to think on the day of trial, whatever time it might 
occur. The Earl of Essex had marched southwards, 
and laid siege to Cahir Castle. After several sallies 
and skirmishes between the belligerents, and a ter- 
rible cannonade from the batteries of Essex, the 
latter at length succeeded in taking possession of 
the fortress. Leaving a garrison behind him, he 
then marched into Desmond, fighting various bat- 
tles as he proceeded. Throughout the whole siege, 
John de Botiller and all the young men of the 
neighborhood were, of course, employed in defend- 
ing the castle ; but now, when all was over, they 
began to think of the strange resolution the old 


334 


THE BRIDAL RING. 


Master of Tig-na-Sgiatk had come to with regard to 
the disposal of the hand of his daughter. They so 
importuned Wattie, that he at last fixed a day ; and 
now, without the slightest consideration for the feel- 
ings of his daughter, although he loved her well, he 
awaited its coming; thinking, of course, that the 
bravest soldier and most active man in the country, 
whoever he was, would make the best and fondest 
husband for Mary. But the latter did not agree 
with her father’s notions on the matter. She .loved 
the handsome young castellan of Cnoc Graffon, and 
was resolved to marry no one else, whoever the suc- 
cessful competitor might be on Midsummer Bay; 
for that was the one appointed by Wattie for the 
trial between her wooers. Many an hour she sat 
and wept in her little chamber in the House of the 
Shield, thinking of the dangerous position she was 
in ; and what must have been her grief and terror, 
when at last Midsummer Day came, and, though a 
numerous throng of competitors had arrived at the 
castle, there was still no appearance of John de 
Botiller! The latter, however, was a score of miles 
away at the time, acting as officer of the guard at 
Carrick Castle, where military discipline was en- 
forced with such strictness that he did not dare to 
leave his post during the temporary absence of Lord 
Ormond. 

Meanwhile the trial between the wooers at the 
House of the Shield went on gloriously, Wattie 
Stem-the-Stream wondering from time to time at 


THE BlilDAL RING. 


385 


the continued absence of the young castellan of 
Cnoc Graffon, whose suit he favored secretly. Several 
competitors had given in, as the day advanced ; and, 
before noon was over, the contest, in every athletic 
trial, lay principally between Gibbon of the Wood, 
Donat Burke of Ruscoe, and Raymond Grace, the 
young Lord of Rurnfort. Poor Donat Burke at 
last nearly fractured his knee, at the leaping of the 
bawn wall, and gave up the contest ; so that, to all 
appearance, the hand of Mary Rideusford was des- 
tined in a short time to fall to the lot of either 
Raymond Grace or the sturdy Gibbon of the Wood, 
both of whom were engaged at a terrible bout of 
wrestling on the level bawn. At length Raymond 
went down ; and, notwithstanding his various 
threats, that he would peril life and lands to gain 
the hand of Mary Rideusford, and a gratuitous one 
to the effect that he would have the heart’s blood 
of any other man that would succeed in winning it, 
he very philosophically gave in at the proposal of 
the next and final trial, which was to be a deadly 
bout between himself and the formidable Gibbon, 
with broadsword, buckler, and skean. 

And now Gibbon of the Wood boldly claimed the 
hand of poor Mary, who was at the moment, with 
bitter tears in her eyes, looking over the sloping 
plain beyond the Suir, expecting her lover to make 
his appearance. And he did appear at last, just as 
the fatal words were about being spoken by her 
father, that would make her the affianced wife of the 


336 


THE BRIDAL RING. 


dreaded Gibbon. Lord Ormond had returned to 
Carrick early that morning; and, when he heard the 
story from the young castellan of Cnoc Graffon, he 
laughed heartily, and gave the latter liberty to set 
off as fast as his good steed would carry him for 
the House of the Shield. There John de Botiller 
arrived at the time we have indicated ; and a ter- 
rible contest commenced between him and the now 
enraged Gibbon, who did not give in till he had lost 
the two best fingers of his right hand, in the last 
trial with skean and broadsword. 

And so John de Botiller won the hand of the 
lovely Mary Ridensford, and they were wedded 
shortly afterwards. But there were tears in her 
eyes soon after the marriage ; for, two days after- 
wards, her young husband was forced to bid her 
farewell, and, with as many men as he could muster, 
return to the banner of Lord Ormond, the eastern 
borders of whose territory were at the time in a 
state of war and trouble and continual tumult. 
Many a weary moon passed over poor Mary, as she 
sat in the turret window of her father’s house, look- 
ing out over the wide plains for the return of her 
gallant husband ; but he came not, for he was still 
taking part in the raids of Lord Ormond, on the far- 
off eastern borders. Many a time she looked upon 
her marriage-ring, and bathed it with tears, as she 
thought of the day on which John de Botiller had 
placed it on her finger. 

And now the south-western borders began to 


THE BRIDAL RING. 


337 


come in for their share of the troubles. Wattie 
Stem-the-Stream and the other castellans of the 
neighborhood rose with their followers, and fell 
upon Cahir Castle ; but, after a sharp contest with 
the garrison left behind by Essex, they were forced 
to retire from its walls. In consequence of this 
attack, the President of Munster sent Sir John 
Dowdall, a veteran soldier of the Queen, across the 
mountains from Youghal, to quiet the borders, and 
place a fresh garrison in Cahir Castle. Sir John ex- 
ecuted his commission with a high and successful 
hand. He not only succeeded in throwing in the 
garrison, but he also laid siege to and took the 
whole chain of border towers, one after the other, 
— the stronghold of Tig-na-Sgiath included. It 
was thus that on a certain fine day the belliger- 
ent and dauntless Wattie found himself and his 
daughter, the young and sad wife of the castellan 
of Cnoc Graffon, close prisoners in the mighty, 
and at the time almost impregnable, fortress of 
Cahir. The father fretted and fumed at being thus 
rendered inactive, when so much was still to be 
done outside; but the daughter sat quietly in her 
lonely prison, and, looking on her bridal ring, day 
after day, still bathed it with many a bitter tear, as 
she thought of the grief her absent husband would 
feel when he heard of their woful state. 

It is not to be supposed that the young castel- 
lan of Cnoc Graffon remained quiet when a secret 
messenger from the stout Wattie bore him the 
22 


338 


THE BRIDAL RING. 


news. He immediately proceeded to James Gal die, 
the Earl of Ormond’s brother, and with him con- 
cocted a plan for the capturing of the Castle of 
Cahir. At the head of about sixty chosen men, 
they marched across the country, and, without at- 
tracting the observation of the garrison, contrived 
to ensconce themselves opposite the walls of the 
castle, just as the shadows of night loomed down 
darkly upon plain and glen from the adjacent sum- 
mits of the Gaulty Mountains. They had brought 
with them a number of ladders; and, having crossed 
the drawbridge, in the dead silence' of the night 
they began scaling the inner wall. Ere a dozen of 
them had gained the bawn inside, the garrison was 
aroused, and rushing out, sword and gun in hand, 
under Thomas Quayle, the castellan, a short and 
sharp struggle commenced between the two parties. 
Wattie Stem-the-Stream and his daughter were 
soon awakened in their prison chambers by the loud 
clashing of swords and the rattling of guns and pet- 
ronels outside. And now the loud crash of a fal- 
conet, or small cannon, resounded from a tower 
overhead, followed by a strange, fearful, and rust- 
ling noise that seemed to tear the rocky walls of the 
prison chamber asunder, after which the young 
bride sat pale and terror-stricken for a moment, and 
then gave one wild and heart-piercing cry of-anguish 
and despair. 

“ The ring ! the ring ! ” she cried, holding out her 
hand towards her startled father. “Ah, me! ah, 


THE BRIDAL RING. 


339 


me ! it is broken ; and I know but too well that my 
noble husband is slain.” 

The father took the trembling hand in his; and, 
examining the bridal ring, found it cracked asunder, 
and almost falling off the finger of the poor young 
bride. Still the uproar continued outside, but in 
a short time it ceased. The prison door at length 
opened, and James Galdie and a few men strode 
into the chamber with the news that they had taken 
the castle. At the moment the door was opened, 
Mary, with another wild cry, rushed out; and, when 
they searched for her a few moments afterwards, 
they found her by the wall, stretched beside the 
dead body of her gallant husband, who had fallen 
beneath the cannon-ball from the tow*r above. 
They raised her ; but she too was dead, and when 
they took her lily-white hand, and looked upon the 
ring, they found it whole and sound as ever, — a mys- 
terious sign of her being reunited to her husband in 
the bridal of death. They were laid side by side 
in the little churchyard ; and many a traveller, as 
the seasons come and go, sits there and muses sadly 
over the last resting-place of the brave John de 
Botiller and his loving wife. 




The Little Battle of Bottle Hill. 


Saddled and bridled 
And booted rade he ; 


Toom * hame came the saddle, 
But never came he ! ” 


MIDST the wild tract of country lying between 



A Cork and Mallow rises Bottle Hill, remarkable 
only for its barrenness, and for a fight that took 
place there between the partisans of King James 
and King William. The following is the traditional 
account of that fight. 

At the foot of Bottle Hill might be seen, some 
few years ago, a spot conspicuous for its greenness 
amidst the surrounding heath and shingle. Traces 
of the foundations of buildings might then be ob- 
served over its unequal surface. Now the heath has 
encroached upon it, so that it is scarcely distinguish- 
able, except by a few stunted hazel-bushes, from the 


340 


* Empty. 


THE LITTLE BATTLE OF BOTTLE HILL. 341 


general surface of the barren and broken moorland 
around. On this spot once stood the strongly fortified 
house of Master Grimshaw Stubbles, son of the 
stout and godly Ephraim Stubbles, one of the victo- 
rious Undertakers, who settled down in the country 
to enjoy the conquests of their bows and spears, 
after the termination of the disastrous wars of 
Cromwell. 

Master Grimshaw proved himself a worthy suc- 
cessor to his father, when that sanctified and redoubt- 
able hero condescended to look his last on the broad 
domain he had won by his conjoint labors as drum- 
mer and expounder of the Word in one of the 
Great Protector’s regiments of cavalry. As a con- 
sequence of the desolation caused by the Cromwel- 
lian wars, the wolf still prowled almost unmolested 
over the barren moorlands and woody fastnesses of 
the neighborhood. Ephraim amused himself occa- 
sionally by a hunt after one of these fierce animals; 
but his propensities as a Nimrod were often gratified 
in a more bloody manner, — namely, in chasing with 
sleuthhound and horn the unfortunate men who 
some years before had met him face to face bravely 
in battle, but who now, reduced to outlaws and Rap- 
parees, broken-hearted and despoiled, tried to gain a 
subsistence, as best they could, amidst the sterility 
of the wild region above-mentioned. 

At the end of such a hunt, and when the poor human 
game was at last run down and captured, not one of 
all the followers of old Ephraim Stubbles had such 


342 


THE LITTLE BATTLE 


a deft and masterly hand as his son at tying the 
hangman’s noose, and adjusting the 'fatal cord by 
which they generally suspended the body of their 
tortured victim to the branch of some neighboring 
tree. It will not therefore be thought wonderful, 
when, at the end of the reign of Charles the Second, 
his father died, and when a slight change came over 
the management of affairs under the authority of 
King James, that, with such training in his youth, 
Master Grimshaw Stubbles, in the prime of life, 
should long for another ruler of the land and for a 
return of the old license. 

Master Grimshaw had not long to wait. After a 
reign that brought more trouble and disaster to Ire- 
land than any of the preceding ones, King James 
fled to France ; and the south was occupied by the 
victorious armies of William, who was just begin- 
ning the memorable siege of Limerick. Then it was 
that the Undertakers rose rampant and furious from 
under the weak restrictions that had been imposed 
upon them during the rule of the preceding Stuarts. 
The hunting horns rang amidst the woods, and the 
sleuthhounds were let loose once more ; and many a 
brave peasant, who had fought and bled in the cause 
of the worthless Stuart, met his cruel fate after the 
chase, under the hands of his triumphant and ruth- 
less foes. 

The lands now held by Master Grimshaw for- 
merly belonged to Donal MacCarthy, a gentleman 
distantly related to the Earl of Glencar, and who, 


OF BOTTLE HILL. 


343 


like his more powerful relative, had fought in the 
cause of Charles the First against the Parliamenta- 
rians. Driven from his home, Donal retired to 
the woods with his wife and only son, and the 
few dependents who were faithful enough to share 
his broken fortunes. Here, season after season, he 
fell deeper into misery; his followers died, or left 
him to eke out their own miserable subsistence in 
other parts of the country, but not before they had 
aided him in driving off two preys of cattle from the 
lands of Ephraim Stubbles. He was outlawed, of 
course ; so that any man who wished might legally 
kill him, and get a reasonable reward for his head. 

At last the indefatigable Ephraim Stubbles fer- 
reted out Donal’s retreat in the woods, surrounded 
the wretched hut early one morning with his con- 
freres and followers, dragged out the poor old gen- 
tleman and his wife, and shot them at their own 
door. Young Donal Riagh, or the Swarthy, their 
son, would have shared the same fate as his parents, 
were it not that he was saved by a merciful and 
jolly old Roundhead magistrate, who, instead of 
the draughts of the Word he had drunk so deep of 
in his youth, had taken in his latter days to jovial 
stoups of Schiedam and foaming tankards of Octo- 
ber ale. 

With the memory of his parents’ fate for ever in 
his mind, it was no wonder that Donal Riagh, as he 
grew up, hated with his whole heart the son of their 
murderer. By his daring exploits against the Wil- 


344 


THE TATTLE BATTLE 


liamites, and by his hereditary influence amongst the 
people of the surrounding country, he had become 
the leader of a numerous band of Rapparees, by 
whose aid he was now planning to pay back the 
debt he owed to Master Grimshaw Stubbles. On 
the other hand, Grimshaw was by no means idle, 
and with his followers, and an occasional troop of 
dragoons from Mallow, scoured the woods several 
times in search of his mortal foe. And thus matters 
stood between the two on a fine sunny morning in 
the beginning of August, 1690. 

Grimshaw, accoutred in morion and corselet and 
the other warlike habiliments of his defunct father, 
was mounted outside his own gate. Around him 
were grouped several other horsemen, — namely, two 
or three officers from the garrison of Mallow, who 
had come all the way over to see the sport ; about a 
dozen other landholders of his own stamp, amongst 
whom might be seen Adam Blundel, the jolly old 
toper who had saved the life of Donal Riagh; de- 
pendents, horse and foot, armed to the teeth, and 
ready for any cruelty, however atrocious ; while be- 
hind, under the archway of the gate, stood a man, 
with a leathern leash in his hand, holding in check 
a brace of strapping, tawny bloodhounds. 

“ By my soul ! ” — said old Adam Blundel, who had 
long done away with the sanctimonious twang with 
which he was wont to garnish his words in the days 
of Cromwell — “ by my soul, and by the hand of 
Oliver ! but I little thought that the boy whose life I 


OF BOTTLE HILL. 


345 


saved twenty years ago should come to this, — that 
he should be chased, caught, and strung up, as he 
will, I fear, before the day is over.” 

“You fear? ” remarked Grimshaw Stubbles, with 
a fierce and dissatisfied look : “ what a tender heart 
you have got, Master Blundel ! ” 

“ I tell you what it is, Grimshaw,” retorted the 
old toper, “from your father the drummer, up to 
Oliver the general, there was not a man in the army 
that had a harder heart than mine while I was 
filled with the Spirit ; but ” — 

“ But since you have taken to filling yourself with 
another kind of spirit,” interrupted one of Adam’s 
ancient bottle-companions, with a grim smile, “ your 
heart is softening to mankind in general, especially 
to this damned Rapparee, Donal Riagh.” 

“Yes,” remarked another, “ we’ll soon have him 
petitioning King William, I suppose, for the Rap- 
paree’s pardon, and for the lives of his followers, 
who harry our lands worse than their brothers, the 
wolves.” 

“Donal Riagh has never done harm to me or 
mine,” returned the honest and blunt old magistrate, 
“ and why should I pursue him to the death ? I 
have come here to-day to prevent unnecessary 
bloodshed ; and yet, as for Donal Riagh, I fear he 
must die at last, else there can be no peace in the 
country. Master Grimshaw here, however, knows 
that Donal has suffered enough wrong to drive a 
wiser man mad.” 


346 


THE LITTLE BATTLE 


“ Die ! ” exclaimed Grimshaw, unheeding the lat- 
ter part of Old Blundel’s remark, “ ay, if he had 
twenty lives ; and, if we catch him, he shall die to- 
day. But see, by heaven, Blundel! but the Lord 
has delivered the rebel dog into our hands without 
trouble. For look yonder ! ” And he pointed towards 
a little wood, something more than a furlong in 
front of the house. 

Blundel looked in the direction indicated; but 
his eyes were none of the best, and he could barely 
distinguish the figure of a man leaning against a 
tree. Not so with the eyes of Master Grimshaw, 
which were rendered doubly sharp by hate. 

“ Look, gentlemen all,” continued he, “ for there 
he stands yonder, alone and unarmed ; for what 
purpose, I know not. I suppose the Lord hath 
blinded him, so that he comes to us to sue for 
mercy, and imagines he shall obtain it. Unslip the 
hounds, Wattie; and away, gentlemen! It is a 
pleasure we can hunt at sight.” And, with that, he 
threw his bridle loose, gave his horse the spur, and 
dashed off in the direction of the wood, followed 
by the others. 

But Grimshaw Stubbles little knew the daring 
and subtle man he had to deal with. The moment 
he had given his horse the spur, Donal Riagh dis- 
appeared from beneath the tree, and darted through 
the wood; so that by the time his pursuers had 
gained the outskirts next the house he was at the 
opposite side, and running away with extraordinary 


OF BOTTLE HILL. 


347 


swiftness over the sloping moorland that extended 
beyond. At the other side of this moorland, the 
country became rough and woody ; and towards 
this wild fastness Donal Riagh was flying at full 
speed, when the two bloodhounds, with horse and 
foot behind them, burst with wild clamor from the 
copse, and stretched out eagerly and fiercely upon 
his track. 

The moorland was soon crossed, and Donal dis- 
appeared in the ragged and stunted wood that 
skirted its opposite side. As he pushed onward, the 
wood, however, became denser, the trees more large 
and lofty, and the glens by which it was intersected 
more difficult and dangerous. Now and then his 
pursuers caught sight of him as he crossed some 
broken glade, but that was all. They continued, 
however, unerringly upon his track; for they had 
only to follow the two bloodhounds that were all 
the while making the woody dells resound with 
their fierce baying. But Donal Riagh took it all 
very unconcernedly, pushing on and on, and draw- 
ing his pursuers deeper and deeper into the intrica- 
cies of that wild forest, with every foot of which he 
was so well acquainted. 

After about an hour’s chase, he plunged into a 
deep and wooded gorge, through the bottom of 
which a broken bridle-path led in through the 
innermost depths of the forest. Midway in this 
lonely ravine, he turned round a bowlder of rock, 
plunged into the thick underwood that clothed its 


348 


THE LITTLE BATTLE 


rugged side, and disappeared, just as the blood- 
hounds came about a hundred yards behind, making 
the whole forest ring with their loud and triumph- 
ant howling. On they came, their black noses 
scattering the fresh dew from the morning grass, 
till, just as they reached the crag around which 
Donal Riagh had turned, two stalwart young Rap- 
parees darted out from the thicket, and pinned them 
to the ground with their light spears. A moment 
after, Grimshaw Stubbles and his followers dashed 
up the gorge, and halted beside the writhing bodies 
of the two luckless bloodhounds. Then came the 
loud pattering of petronel and musketoon from 
both sides of the gorge, and Donal Riagh and his 
vengeful Rapparees, with a wild and thrilling shout, 
rushed down upon the unfortunate Tory hunter 
and his comrades. 

Let us now return to the house of Grimshaw 
Stubbles. Scarcely had that worthy and his con- 
freres disappeared under the shades of the forest 
beyond the moorland, when a body of men, about 
forty in number, and led by Theige MacDonogh, 
Donal’s lieutenant, rushed out from the little wood 
above mentioned, darted in through the open gate- 
way, fell upon the scanty guard left behind, slew 
them to a man, and took possession of the house. 
After the proper military arrangements were made by 
Theige MacDonogh, — who, by the way, had served 
as a cornet under King James, at the Battle of the 
Boyne, — the sentinel who stood guard at the gate- 


OF BOTTLE HILL. 


349 


way saw a horse tearing madly up the moorland and 
around the little wood, which his practised eye 
recognized instantly as that belonging to Master 
Grimshaw Stubbles. The fate of its master and 
most of his comrades in the wild forest-gorge may 
easily be guessed. 

About the same moment, two horsemen might 
be seen riding at full speed, and in different direc- 
tions from the fatal gorge. One was the jovial old 
toper, Adam Blundel, whose life had been, as a mat- 
ter of course, spared by Donal Riagh ; the other 
was one of the officers from Mallow, who had 
escaped, and who was riding now towards that 
town at his topmost speed, to bring out as many of 
the cavalry of the garrison as he could to the scene 
of the wild and fatal onslaught of the morning. 

On the evening of that day, two troops of Wil- 
liamite dragoons wound up the sylvan valley of the 
Clydagh from Mallow, crossed by the little wood in 
front of Grimshaw’s house, formed in line, and 
halted at the foot of Bottle Hill. A trumpeter 
was sent forward, after a slight delay, who rode 
directly onward to the front gate, and summoned 
the Rapparees to surrender without conditions. 
The garrison was now, however, strengthened by 
Donal Riagh and his followers, so that it somewhat 
outnumbered the Williamite force sent against it. 
The answer returned to the trumpeter, therefore, 
may be easily imagined. He rode back with a re- 
fusal, of course, to report it to his commander. 


350 


THE LITTLE BATTLE 


Scarcely had the trumpeter reached the line, when 
a Rapparee horseman, with a white handkerchief on 
the point of his sword, dashed out from the gate- 
way, and approached within talking distance of the 
Williamites. 

“ Our captain, the brave Donal Riagh MacCar- 
thy, sent me forward,” said he, addressing the officer 
who appeared to command the English dragoons, 
“ to know how many sabres ye be to a man ? ” 
“Avery modest inquiry, indeed,” exclaimed the 
Williamite captain, laughing. “ May I ask, how- 
ever, before I answer, for what purpose does your 
master ask the question ? ” 

“For this,” answered the Rapparee: “that for 
every sabre you have, Donal Riagh is willing to tell 
out the same number on this nice moorland, and 
then let both sides see it out, man to man, on horse- 
back or on foot, before the sun sets beyond Mount 
Hillary.” 

“I have a hundred men besides myself and the 
three officers you see yonder,” returned the English 
captain, delighted at the proposal. “ Go back and 
tell your chief, or whatever he is, that I am happy 
to accede to what he proposes ; that man and horse, 
I and my officers and my hundred men, will fight 
him and his officers and an equal number. Such, I 
believe, are the conditions. Stay for a moment,” 
continued he with a sneer ; “ tell your captain that 
he may add fifty more to his number. We shall 
fight them, if they come out from their stone walls.” 


OF BOTTLE HILL . 


351 


The messenger went off at a brisk gallop, and soon 
rode in through the guarded gateway. 

Mgst of the men under Donal Riagh, as well as 
Donal himself, had served in the cavalry of King 
James; so, after being disbanded fora time subse- 
quent to the Battle of the Boyne, each, on his com- 
ing home, had taken care, along with keeping his 
arms and accoutrements, which he was allowed to 
do by his commanders, to provide himself also with 
a horse. And thus it happened that the delibera- 
tions of the English were soon disturbed by the 
martial strain of a cavalry trumpet, and immediately 
afterwards Donal Riagh was seen riding forth from 
the gate of Grimshaw Stubbles’s house at the head 
of a hundred horsemen, with Theige MacDonogh 
and two other subordinate commanders by his side. 
The English trumpeter now sounded forth his chal- 
lenge in return ; and, in a few moments, the men on 
both sides sat their horses opposite one another, ex- 
pecting the command to charge. It came; and then 
followed the thundering rush across the dry spot of 
moorland that lay between the belligerents, the 
crash of both lines as they closed in the deadly con- 
flict, and, soon after, the victorious shouts of the 
brave Rapparees, as the English, massing themselves 
together as closely as they could, began to retreat 
slowly over the hills, leaving about twenty of their 
number behind upon the field. After losing about 
half-a-dozen more of his men, the Williamite cap- 
tain, who, all through the fight, showed himself a 


352 THE LITTLE BATTLE OF BOTTLE HILL. 

man of much judgment and mettle, at last succeed- 
ed in making his retreat into Mallow. On the side 
of the Rapparees about a dozen men fell. The 
horses and trappings of the slain dragoons were, 
however, an important addition to the armament of 
the gallant and victorious Donal Riagh MacCarthy, 
who, in the war that followed, became one of the 
most celebrated and successful Rapparee leaders in 
the south of Ireland. 

Thus ended what we have called, at the head of 
this paper, the little battle of Bottle Hill. The 
story, though traditional, and though perhaps its 
details on that account cannot be strictly relied 
upon, is still instructive, showing, as it does, how the 
Irish peasantry, when properly prepared, and acting 
in concert under a brave and skilful leader like 
Donal Riagh, can fight, and win even, on a fair field 
and man to man, against English or any other 
troops, no matter how high the valor and perfect 
the discipline of the latter. 




































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